


City of Light

by ThyCannoli (orphan_account)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bilingual Character(s), Business, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Family Issues, First Time Bottoming, France (Country), French Characters, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Panic Attacks, Paris (City), Past Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Robb Stark is a Gift, Romantic Fluff, Shower Sex, Texting, Winterfell, artist!Theon, but he is rubbish at French, post-Ramsay Theon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-01-26 17:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 64,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12562816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ThyCannoli
Summary: Robb moves to Paris to establish the new branch of Winterfell Company. On one of his first mornings in the city, he takes Sansa's advice and tries out the café she recommended. Little does he know how this decision will change his week and, eventually, his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is more like a teaser, the others are going to be longer.  
> All locations mentioned here are actual Parisian places, but details might be changed for the story's sake. Tags are going to be added as the fic goes.  
> Have fun!

 

Walking down Rue Chapon towards Café Loustic, Robb tries to relax for the first time in weeks. His life has been a whirlwind these past months. The Baratheon scandal, Winterfell Co., his father’s accident… work on top of work and stress. Even moving to Paris has been a business decision, not anything remotely personal. As much as he’s happy to live closer to his sisters again, branching Winterfell into France, ergo into Lannister territory is more of a struggle than he imagined. Especially if one has spent a grand total of five days in the country so far. But now that he’s here, no matter those urgent workplace matters, he has to take a couple days off to replenish and take a tour around the city like a simple tourist. From the pavement in front of a shop called Caro - shit, Winterfell really has to come save France if _that’s_ the autumn leather collection - he can see the red café sign on the other side of the road. They have just opened, judged by the dozen or so people rushing in after a haggard barista walks out.

The guy looks cute in his black and gold uniform. He has blue eyes that are healthily irritated for a Monday morning, a slim body and wavy brown hair with floppy bangs hanging over his forehead. There’s a pencil behind his right ear, Robb observes when the boy bends over to put out the daily specials board. As he straightens up and glances around the sunlit street, he catches Robb checking him out. His annoyed expression morphs into careful blankness while Robb winces in embarrassment and wishes to sink into the sidewalk. They keep looking at each other until the barista smirks, raises an eyebrow in challenge and goes back inside.

A minute later Robb steps into the small café with apprehension curling in his stomach. It was his sister who recommended the place, yes, but Sansa is… well. She’s been living in Paris a _liiittle_ bit longer than Robb, and her French isn’t standing on the shaky legs of his high school classes and “French for dummies”. Despite her insistence, Robb doubts the staff’s US-friendliness extends to speaking the tongue of the bloody devil itself, so no English, most likely.  And the only French phrase Robb is quite sure he remembers correctly is _jeune loup_ [young wolf], and that’s because douchebag-Joffrey used to call him that for his canine-like smile back in freshman year. Sadly, the nickname stuck even after the braces did their magic on his teeth.

 _“Pardon.”_ One of the other patrons shoulders past him while he’s standing in the doorway rooted to the spot. The cute barista from before is staring at him with his dark blue eyes, sitting on a high chair behind the counter. His pencil is in his hand this time, the tip tapping at his lips as he gives Robb a thorough once over and a wink. Robb glances up at the menu and tries to will the heat away from his cheeks.

 _“Ça va?”_ [You okay?] A plump woman in a Loustic apron asks him kindly, putting a hand on his arm.

 _“...bien.”_ [well] Robb croaks out and shuffles a few steps forward. The girl frowns at him suspiciously and moves to the other side of the counter, waiting for the order. Cute Barista’s mouth stretches into a lopsided smile. How wonderful, they already think Robb’s an uneducated yankee.

 _“J’ai..._ fame?” He tries and mimes biting into a sandwich. The woman looks completely nonplussed, but Cute Barista snickers and slips his pencil back behind his ear, jumping off his seat.

 _“Je vais m’en occuper, Pauline. Nettoie le comptoir.”_ [I’ll take care of it. Wipe down the counter.]

 _“D’accord, Theon.”_ [Alright.] Then she leans closer and whispers into Cute Barista’s - Theon’s ear. Robb sighs and racks his mind for a sentence that at least vaguely means ’I want a muffin and a cappucino’. When Theon turns away from his colleague, he opens his mouth to attempt ordering again, but he doesn’t even get to _je_ before Theon gives him a leer.

“She thinks you are a porn star.” He says in perfect English.

“What?” Robb blurts out. Cute Barista speaks English! And… wait. “Porn star?”

“I assume you meant you are hungry. But what you actually said was “I have fame”, not _faim._ [hunger] Then you imitated fellatio.”

“That was supposed to be biting into a sandwich.”

Theon shrugs, grinning. “You have to admit, it was kind of ambiguous.”

“Christ. Could you please, um, disabuse her of the notion?”

“Why? You should be proud. I can certainly see why she mistook you for one.”

 _“Greyjoy, arrête de flirter!”_ [Stop flirting!] The third staff member hisses to Theon and whacks him on the shoulder.

 _“Connard”_ [jerk] Theon mutters with such a displeased, dark expression that Robb has to laugh despite himself. The glare immediately vanishes from Theon’s eyes and turns into a look of wonder, his gaze flickering over every spot of Robb’s face as if he was trying to memorise it. Robb sobers up, clearing his throat.

“So, uh, I’d like a chocolate muffin and a cappucino.”

“Okay” Theon replies as if dazed, then runs a hand through his hair and turns to make the coffee. All of a sudden he seems distracted and fidgety, almost spilling the drink when he puts it on the counter, and he never stops scrutinizing Robb’s features.

“Thank you.” Robb says with a small nod and takes his breakfast to the closest free table he can find, lest he make a fool of himself again. Yeah, sitting down quickly is a lot safer. The one right next to the window is perfect, he can bask a little in the morning sunshine pouring in through the glass. His wicker chair with its fluffy pillow is comfortable enough that he considers buying one for his new apartment and when he takes the first sip of his coffee… that’s pure heaven. Nothing like Starbucks’ syrupy motor oil that could disembowel someone. (He’s not judging, but he prefers his drink well-made and tasty, alright?)

Letting go of some pent up anxiety, he closes his eyelids and just feels. The place smells like burnt coffee beans and cinnamon, a homey scent that reminds him of family breakfasts back when he was a kid. The sun warms his face when he angles his head towards its rays and the bitter, familiar taste of his cappucino settles in the back of his throat like a silky blanket. People are chattering in the background, those beautiful French consonants rolling off their tongues in low murmurs. Calm, at last. Robb sighs in contentment, a small smile dancing around the corners of his lips. When he opens his eyes to take a bite of his muffin, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Someone’s watching him. He glances around, but no one seems to bother with him. Theon’s furiously sketching something in a notebook Robb didn’t notice he carried, but now that pencil he puts behind his ear makes some sort of sense. Is he an artist? Robb wonders and thinks about offering himself as a nude model. Then he almost snorts at his ridiculous fantasy, because hell will freeze over twice before he propositions another man that bluntly.

Pauline, the plump barista peeks over Theon’s shoulder to see what he’s drawing. Her eyes widen and she takes a quick look at Robb, then turns back to the paper with a silent ’wow’ that Robb reads from her lips. She pats Theon’s shoulder and he mumbles something, but doesn’t raise his sight from his work. Robb would like to know what’s worthy of drawing in his direction. Might be the flowers on his table, he reasons, they are a nice bunch. The sunlight creates interesting shadows on their petals and if you add his porcelain coffee cup to the background, it must make a beautiful picture.

He turns back to his food and pulls his phone out of his pocket, compulsively checking for updates about his father’s health. No such luck. What he finds instead, of course, is a load of work emails and some scientologist chain message from Aunt Lysa which he deletes immediately. One mail in particular really makes Robb’s blood boil. It’s from Rickard Karstark, the one distant relative who never fails to make a jab at Robb’s authority, now that he has reluctantly taken the CEO position from his hospitalized father. Karstark has been at it ever since Jaime Lannister managed to scrape his clothing department together with the help of Robb’s own mother - for which Robb’s still angry, by the way. In his latest mail, Rickard proudly proclaims he swayed Martyn and Willem Lannister into leaking out corporate secrets, which supposedly puts him back on equal ground after Jaime destroyed his sons’ fledging businesses.

Martyn and Willem are fucking kids, Robb wants to write back as soon as he reads through all four pharagraphs of boasting. Giving them chocolate for stealing papers from their father’s office will not make Rickard the savior of their corporation’s clothing branch and Robb very much doubts it has any effect whatsoever on Jaime Lannister’s wellbeing. _So, no, Rickard, we do not bribe and use children for corporate crimes and we do not condone unethical behaviour in the name of Winterfell’s greater good._

By the time he finishes his response, he has eaten his muffin and there’s only a sip of coffee left in his cup. He chugs it down, then goes to pay. Theon is occupied somewhere else, so Robb sees neither him nor his notebook, but he makes sure to leave a generous tip before leaving. As he exits the café and steps out into the Parisian morning, he takes a deep breath and smiles. He’s definitely coming back tomorrow.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon has faith in his ability to stay unattached, but he might already be in over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I'm trying to use pictures on ao3 for the first time. Tell me if I messed up. :)  
> Have fun!

 

The shrill sound of an old school wecker splits into Theon’s sleep like a pickaxe. He doesn’t even try to gather the willpower to groan, just swipes out with an uncoordinated arm and hits the clock clear off his bedside table. The only reason why it doesn’t break into a million pieces is the enormous pile of clothes scattered around on the floor. Good fucking morning. Theon gets up like a rusty toy and pads into the bathroom, pulls his boxers down to take a leak, but at the last second, he notices the toilet lead is closed. He reaches to lever it up, but finds it locked with a heavy chain he can’t open. No problem, the shower will do. He turns to the right and steps forward, then almost headbutts the tiled wall that at the moment somehow corners him away from the stall. The tap is dripping, drop, drop, drop...

Theon’s phone belts out a series of sounds that scares the shit out of him and he sits up in bed, panting.

 _“Fils de pute”_ [son of a bitch] He swears and makes a run for the bathroom. He must have dozed back off after the first and slept through the second alarm, dreaming that he actually got up. His arm has fallen asleep, presumably from hanging over the edge of his bed, and he’s got to piss so bad he sees the mirage of a waterfall on the threshold.

 _“J'en ai ras le cul.”_ [I’m fed up with this shit.] He mutters as soon as his bladder doesn’t threaten to explode anymore. He’s already ten minutes late, because that was his back up-back up alarm, the sound of a power drill at the maximum volume his phone can produce. Working at a night club on three out of five days and taking the morning shift at the café hasn’t been his brightest idea. His head is pounding, in spite of not drinking a sip of alcohol the last evening, and there might be cotton in his ears that makes every noise dull and echoing. Undoubtedly, Theon has to quit manning that stupid bar.

Whilst washing his hands, he takes a cursory glance at his reflection in the mirror. A particularly bad-off zombie looks back at him with stylish black circles under his bloodshot eyes. What a charmer, he thinks, then, _how pathetic I am if my own inner voice’s being sarcastic at my expense?_ Pretty pathetic, but what’s new.

He finds himself a rumpled shirt, probably the only clear one, and puts on his most comfortable pair of jeans. One of his socks has a hole, so half of his big toe is poking out of it. Fucking annoying, but he can’t start searching for another without losing ten minutes and that much he can’t afford. No time for his favourite black tea-croque monsieur combo either, it’s gotta be Burger King breakfast to go at Alésia-Maine, again. He gathers his backpack and runs out of his flat and down one flight of stairs, almost knocking over his neighbour whose name he can’t for the life of him recall. Then he runs back up because he forgets whether he locked his front door or not.

After that spectacular start of a day, he gets his pitiful, greasy Croissan’wich and takes metro No.4. Twenty minutes later he bursts out of the train at Étienne Marcel, jogs his way to Rue Chapon and rushes into the café, disheveled and sweaty, exactly five minutes after opening. Maurice, that asshole, looks at him over his turned up nose as if Theon was the dirtiest, smelliest mop he has ever seen.

 _“Tu es en retard.”_ [You are late.] Singsongs Pauline from behind the counter. Theon would hiss something rude in response if she wasn’t one of the nicest girls he knows. He glowers at her instead, then scurries into the backroom and puts on his uniform in record time. No matter how efficient he is, though, Maurice has already put him on his blacklist four months ago. No way to avoid getting the shittiest tasks for the day. Despite that, the first two hours of work fly away relatively fast. There aren’t all that many people flocking in, so during a bit of a lull he plans the course of action concerning his gorgeous new muse. Today, he will neither draw his eyes nor his jawline, in spite of what he wishes, but hopefully he’s going to get his number.

Every barista can take so called coffee breaks, which, by the way, is a ridiculous name in Theon’s opinion. They are working in a café, surrounded by that smell all day, who the hell wants to drink it in their free time? Their employers must think it’s hilarious though. Most of Theon’s colleagues smoke a cigarette or two in those fifteen minutes, Theon draws sketches for his school projects. Sometimes from memory or imagination, sometimes from a present model. Just like that morning when he first saw the American man. Inspiration of that kind hasn’t come very often in the last year, despite the change in scenery. Dover and Paris are essentially different, thank God, but moving hasn’t been enough to boost Theon’s creativity. He has been in a humdrum, ever since Ra... but he shouldn’t think about that. What matters is that he feels his passion budding again. Monday afternoon he finished twice the work he usually manages in a month. And that fact alone makes him invested, one way or another, in staying around the guy who caused this change in him.

Fortunately, the man has come to sit in his wicker chair again, the third day in a row. As per usual, he’s typing away on his phone. His lips are cherry red from being nibbled on - Theon wants to suck on the childish pout they’re currently forming. It has been a long time since he felt attracted to a member of his own sex in this way, he has been fucking women for the most part. And painting women, for that matter. But there’s something about this guy that makes him stand out like a sapphire between river pebbles. And Theon has an inkling he’s much more complex than he seems. Maybe the cheerful innocence he radiates is only there to mask what’s inside, to hide the worm in a perfect apple. There are moments when his brows lower and the line of his mouth shifts into a barely perceptible frown - those times he belies the paragon he tries to appear as. He has secrets and Theon has always been captivated by dark and hidden things. Because of artistic reasons, sexual desire or simple allure, either way, Theon tells Pauline to cover for him and goes to the table by the window.

“Mind if I sit here?” He asks, already halfway in the other seat.

“What - no, no, it’s okay.” Like a deer caught in headlights, the guy freezes and stares at Theon with wild eyes.

“Great. I’m taking my break and I thought we could finally talk for real. After all, it’s not every day that such a handsome costumer comes in.”

The man blushes and Theon wonders how far down that flush spreads. If only he took his shirt off... How nice it would be to paint the muscles of his bare torso with pale pink dusted rubescent, to make his nipples stand out like tiny rosebuds on the pastel plain of his chest. To picture his belly button with a swirl of his brush and draw a thin trail of hair leading down to forbidden, delicious places. Or the shadows in the subtle V of his hips... Well, Theon clearly doesn’t lack imagination when it comes to this new, fascinating subject.

“I’m Theon Greyjoy, though you might know that by now.”

“Robb Stark.” He nods and takes Theon’s extended hand. His palm is warm and soft, isn’t rough from callouses like the mariners’ on the coast. However, his grip is firm and steady. He has long fingers as well, something Theon marks in bold on the current page of his mental notebook. Might be useful to know, right?

“I think that name suits you. Robb or Robert means spear of God.”

Robb smiles at him crookedly over the rim of his cup. “You just made that up, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Theon grins back, not bothered in the slightest bit that he got caught bluffing. “Are you always this good at reading people?”

“I wish. I pretty much suck at it. In my line of work I should be able to tell when someone’s lying to me, but…” Trailing off, Robb sighs.

“What do you do?”

“Management.”

“You’d need people skills for that.”

Robb nods. “This is the only thing I’m really bad at. My brother says I’m too trusting.”

“We’d make a good pair then. I’m said to be too suspicious.”

That comment makes Robb laugh and Theon treasures the moment in his memory. He loves how Robb’s lips part to reveal his teeth and the way his curls bounce when his head moves. The sight caught his eyes the first time he saw it and it has the same effect now, makes him breathless. He just wishes they were in his studio where he could pour all that on blank canvas.

“What about you?” Robb asks and nudges Theon’s ankle with his foot. “What do you do?”

Theon gestures at his uniform. “Obviously, I’m a barista. I’m also a bartender, a college student and a full-time artist.”

“Impressive.”

“I know, right?”

“What kind of artist?”

“Painter, mostly. Nothing close to Monet level, but you know, nice enough stuff that people buy it.”

Robb leans closer over the table, propping his chin up with one hand. “I’d like to see these not-Monet-level masterpieces.”

“Hardly masterpieces.” Theon rolls his eyes, but smiles back. He really likes where this is going. “But you can see them if -”

Robb’s phone starts buzzing on the table, the screen flashing “Jon” in all caps. Just as they were getting to the good part! Fuck Theon’s life. Seeing the name makes Robb blanch and swallow. Theon prays to God it’s not because that Jon is his boyfriend.

“I - shit, I’m sorry, I have to take this.” Robb mumbles and picks up the call.

“What’s wrong?” He rasps anxiously. Theon watches his face, the wrinkling lines over his forehead and the pink flash of his tongue when he wets his lips. “That’s the Whispering Wood project.”

He must be a workaholic, Theon observes. The realisation doesn’t make him disappointed, only resigned. No one’s perfect, after all. “Yeah. Tywin has more… don’t do anything till I get there. We have to think this over.”

Robb hangs up, abruptly looking the worse for wear. “I’m so sorry.” He says to Theon with a grim smile. “Can we continue this the next time I come?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you. I can’t wait.”

And with that, Theon’s plans to get the guy’s number go straight out the window. Goddamn rollercoaster of a morning.

 

 

~o~

 

The evening of the same day, Theon’s up to his wrists in neon green paint when his phone whistles that annoying android sound he always forgets to change. He ponders leaving it, but odds are it’s an email from his professeur about some change in their coursework that will render Theon’s current piece virtually worthless. It wouldn’t be the first time that happens. After a brief fight with a towel that sticks to his fingers, he manages to clean one hand and unlock his screen. Turns out he’s got a Messenger notification.

It’s accompanied by a friend request on facebook from no other than Robb Stark. “Idiot.” Theon grins as soon as he sees it. He quickly hits on accept and starts browsing the guy’s page. Like a fucking stalker, but what Robb doesn’t know, won’t hurt him, right? The first to get his attention - aside from the lovely profile pic - is Robb’s number of friends. He has more than 1200! Theon has 217, exactly, and that includes people like Smelly Jimmy from sixth grade. Seeing that makes Theon mull over the entire situation. Now that he thinks about it, it’s as if they had come from completely different planets. Robb from the “popular, good looking, kind, nice etc., insert positive adjective” planet, Theon from “Let’s-dump-the-weird-stuff-here”. Should he even pursue this conquest? Robb is way out of his league. Theon’s used to dealing with timid, naive ladies who study art history or contemporary dance, not sexy businessmen from the other side of the ocean. He might not be able to handle this one, like he hadn’t been with Ra… Fuck. Twice in one day. That kind of thinking will never get him anywhere. He wants Robb Stark, he can’t let his issues get in the way. He types something on impulse and hits send. A few minutes later he gets a wide-eyed emoji in response, and a greeting.

Theon bets it isn’t. His family is notoriously made of bastards who aim to fuck with their offsprings’ lives by giving them ancient or ludicrous names. Granted, if you lived your whole life on a guano covered seashore, you are bound to go insane at one point.

 

While Robb’s typing a response, Theon moves to see what else he can find out through facebook, starting with the photo section. There are so many bad ones of Robb, the page is a goldmine of them, actually. And of course, there are tons of cuteness. Robb hugging his sisters, Robb kissing his mother, Robb with husky puppies...

“Hm. Hot mom.” Theon comments to himself when he sees another one of Robb and his mother. She’s a natural redhead with a face like a warrior goddess, no wonder her son is so stunning. His sisters and brothers often appear too, but there’s another person who piques Theon’s interest. It’s the ominous Jon, a black-haired guy with a permanent frown. He doesn’t have Robb’s surname, yet they seem awfully close. There are no less than twenty photos about just the two of them, Robb smiling and that Jon aiming for grim reaper of the year award or something.

“What a ray of sunshine.” Theon mutters and goes to check Robb’s personal information. Despite all rational reasons, he is jealous. He doesn’t want a relationship, but he desires _Robb_ , and he’s none too keen on sharing. Damnit. There’s no data about Robb’s relationships, not even an “it’s complicated”. Maybe he’ll have better luck with that Jon’s. 

He doesn’t. The page is practically blank to him, since they aren’t aquainted, except for some photos and a post about Robb.

Robb’s sisters seem to be fond of this Jon Snow. Theon doubts they would like _him_ at all, not to mention the parents. He would stick out like a sore thumb in that perfect American family. Wait a second. Why is he so concerned about all these stupid stuff? He will take Robb on a few dates and screw him to ride out his muse, then both of them can go on their merry way. No ties, no attachment. Who gives a damn what Robb’s parents think?

Back to facebook, it’s not like Theon’s own profile is any better than the two he has just seen. Yeah, he’s got no profile pic, nor did he add any remotely personal information, but there’re some pictures he has been tagged on. Speaking of, he hasn’t even bothered to check them. They must be group photos from high school, he imagines.

Oh, did he think wrong. Now that he takes a good look… if Robb’s photos were cringeworthy, these are kill-me-now-and-shoot-my-ashes-into-space worthy. Jesus Christ. How does one untag himself?

There’s one about him trying to put on a pullover or something, looking like the first character who dies in a cheap horror movie. On another, he has - twigs between his teeth? The hell is that? Who in their right mind would post and share something like that? His ex-best friend from high school, it seems so. By unfriending the guy will he delete the shot? Because if that’s what it takes…

There’s only one picture where he is the main figure and the shot is sort of acceptable. He didn’t know there were any photos about him doing archery, but apparently during one of the competitions, they recorded all the winners. He’s kinda proud about that.

Theon smiles in satisfaction. It wouldn’t take too long to bed Robb if they get to the first date this week. He’s quite sure the guy will need another to put out, but they might get there by the next weekend.

 

~o~

 

As it is more often than not, things don’t go the way Theon anticipates. First off, Robb doesn’t come to Theon’s studio on Rue Rivoli, nor does he show up in the café for two consecutive weeks. However, he is like Theon’s personal spammer on facebook. Daily dose of cat memes? Check. The most beautiful natural wonders of the world slideshow? Check. Places to visit while in France? Check. (Theon snorts at that one.) Retriever puppies lost in Bois de Boulogne? Robb hits share. Before, Theon had circa four new posts a day to see in his news feed, now that amount is tripled at the very least. And, surprise of surprises, Robb’s texting him all the time. Theon has tried to keep his answers curt and pointedly vague - because, you know, no attachment excludes lovey-dovey messages about how the other’s day went - but his resolve broke around the fourth occasion Robb wished him a good morning.

That particular event went like this. Theon had around three hours of sleep, because it turned out that quitting his slavework of a job at the bar meant he had to stay and clean up after his last shift. Then he received a drunken call from his father at four in the morning and got told what a worthless pussy he is. At least he has a reason now not to send a Christmas card this year. (He hasn’t sent one in years. Somehow, they provide a reason every single time.) He’d been five minutes late again and had just gotten an email from the professeur who hates him that his non-figurative piece didn’t amount to shit, when his phone chimed.

Strangely enough, that was the thing that turned on the waterworks. Theon looked at it and broke into tears in the middle of the metro platform at Alésia, wishing he wasn’t so fucked up that a simple text could make him cry. He had been rude to him the whole time, yet Robb never stopped sending him those little messages and playing one-sided twenty questions. What did he think when he wrote it? Why did he do it? Is it _him_ who actually needs these gestures, but doesn’t get them from anyone? Is he lonely? Theon knew he shouldn’t, because it’s dangerous and he almost died the last time he let anyone get to him. But he pictured Robb alone in his apartment, waiting for someone to think about him… and he couldn’t help it, he gave in. Stepping into the train, Theon wiped the wetness off his cheeks and for the first time, began typing a real response.

_This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,_ says Rick in _Casablanca,_ and against all odds, Theon thinks it fits to describe what happened after that certain moment. He knows now that Robb loves chocolate, that his favourite time of the year is yuletide, that he hasn’t read _The little prince_ (unacceptable), that Jon is his cousin (thank God) and that he used to play with lego soldiers up until his high school years. In turn, he tells Robb about his sister (he leaves the others out of it), about living in Dover and about how he read supposedly girly books like _Désirée_ in secret under his blanket when he was a teenager. He mentions his bad breakup as well (he does not say the name, nor the… things, but this is as far as he has ever gotten). All in all, life’s swell. Too much so, in fact. It makes Theon scared, but hell-bent on keeping to his usual programme. Knowing how much they talk, Robb might sleep with him after only one date and then Theon can end this circus before it burns him.

Of course, it’s Theon’s usual luck that the moment Robb finally comes to the 59th of Rue Rivoli and steps into his studio, his front is dripping from the can of crimson paint he managed to pour over himself while he tried to put it away. He looks like a serial killer with his white workclothes and his palms soaked in bloody red, his biggest painting knife still held in one hand.

“This isn’t what it looks like.” He barely says it with a straight face, the corners of his mouth twitching from suppressed smiling. It gets the reaction he wants. Robb erupts in a full belly laugh where he’s standing on the threshold, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“You mean you haven’t just dropped a can of paint over yourself?”

“Shut up.” Theon grins and goes to get rid of his ruined get up. It’s going straight into a trash bag, washing it would be in vain. Keeping a change of clothes around has proven to be a wise decision once again. Robb waits him out in silence, examining Theon’s studies and half-complete works in the meantime.

“Thought you bailed on me, Robb Stark.” Theon admits once he has a clean shirt on and there’s no chance Robb gets to see what’s under it.

“I didn’t. There was a family emergency.”

_Family emergency, my ass,_ he thinks and gives Robb a doubtful look.

“There truly was. I mean…” Robb sighs. “I couldn’t tell you in text that my father’s in a coma.”

_Shit._ “Oh… what happened?”

“Car accident.”

“I’m sorry.”

Talking about this, Robb looks deeply troubled. “There are speculations about it not being an accident.”

“What?!”

“It might have been arranged by the Lannisters.” At Theon’s frown, he adds “You know, the rival family I’ve been telling you about.”

“Jesus. Is that a frequent occurrence in the clothing business?”

Robb gives him a sad look. “Maybe. But I don’t really want to talk about this right now.”

“Okay. Do you want to see the good stuff?” Theon moves closer and gestures at the hallway, indicating the curling lines of paintings on the wall along the whole staircase.

Robb glances at him with his earnest blue eyes and nods in gratitude. “Thank you.”

Their arms brush as they walk out of the room and Theon thinks, with frightening clarity, _I’m doomed._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna check out Theon's photos? Here you go:  
> 1\. https://i.pinimg.com/236x/b6/45/8c/b6458c5ac79e9cfb9bef58f6be35dbe1--alfie-allen.jpg  
> 2\. http://images5.fanpop.com/image/photos/30700000/Rolling-Stone-Magazine-Outtakes-game-of-thrones-30790109-375-500.jpg  
> 3\. http://data.whicdn.com/images/59666044/superthumb.jpg


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb tries out being spontaneous and gets both hot and cold results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter with lots of action and mentions of a couple interesting places. Also, Robb might be demisexual in this one.  
> Enjoy!

 

When Robb entered the building, he has been kind of dubious about proceeding further inside. The art he he prefers is fundamentally different from the eclectic, postmodernist athmosphere Rivoli 59 oozes, so he wasn’t sure how much he would like the place. He is more into impressionism, with its gentle lines and light, calming pictures. Apocalyptic visions, scraped raw canvas and a giant dragon curling up the wall along the staircase are not what he thinks of while someone’s talking about art. When he tells all this to Theon, he laughs out loud.

“The dragon is one of my friends’ work. She’s one fierce girl.” He says.

“I find it a bit creepy.”

“Creepy? I think it’s brilliant. _Suivez le dragon._ [follow the dragon] That’s better than a single arrow or God help us, a map.”

“What’s wrong with maps?”

Theon scoffs. “They are predictable.”

“I thought that was a good feature.”

“Sure, in real life. When it comes to art, not so much. Predictable means boring.”

Robb blinks at the wall in front of them. It’s covered by an enormous red sun with a face, pierced by a golden spear. It’s a lot of things but boring. “I’ve never thought about that.”

“Because you find everything exciting. What was that shit you sent me this morning?”

“Grumpy Cat memes.”

“Of course. When do you have the time to look up stuff like that?”

“I don’t have it. But sometimes I need to send my mind on a break.”

Theon lets out a fake cough. _“Sometimes?”_

“Shut up.” Robb laughs and nudges Theon’s shoulder. “By the way, why are we going downstairs?”

“I want to show you what else is here before you see my pieces.”

Robb doesn’t dare say he has no interest in other contemporary works aside from Theon’s, so down they go. The building isn’t as packed as the Louvre, per se, but there’s quite a lot of people around. As they descend the stairs, Robb has to keep close to Theon’s side to avoid bumping into other people. The warmth radiating from his body makes Robb’s cheeks heat up. Christ, he’s getting flushed from the slightest of contacts, what’s wrong with him? Is he so touch-starved that he transformed into a teenage girl with a crush?

On the first floor, they reach a row of studios where Theon stops in thought. “Who directed you up to me?” He asks.

“She had a strange name… Misna? A black girl with -” Robb raises his hands, indicating the curly-coily hair.

“Ah, that’s Missandei. Let’s thank her then.”

They enter the second room on the left. There’s the girl from before, kneeling on the wooden floor next to a heap of… junk. And she is in a rapid-fire argument with a black guy who keeps gesturing at the litter on the ground. They speak in a language that sounds like Double Dutch to Robb.

Theon clears his throat and the woman looks up, her mouth stretching into a polite smile. “Just a moment, please.” She says to Robb and stands up to continue her fight with his friend in hushed whispers.

“They are from Nigeria.” Theon explains when Robb raises both his eyebrows at him. “That’s Torgo, although he calls himself Grey Worm. Missandei swears she taught him to speak English, but I’ve yet to hear it. Most times he just stares at me until I give up. And in case you didn’t find that odd enough, the two of them make shadow sculptures out of bottle caps, newspapers, wires and scrap wood.”

“Shadow sculptures?”

“Look.” Theon waves him over to another installation of rubbish, then switches on the lamp set close to it.

“Oh wow.” Not what Robb expected. Personally, he finds the pile itself disgusting, but it’s certainly creative.

“That’s one of my favourites.” Missandei says as she approaches them, leaving Grey Worm in obvious anguish. _“Dirty white trash with seagulls.”_

While she’s explaining how that… thing came to life, Robb examines Theon’s features. It’s hardly believable that they met only three weeks ago, not three months. Robb doesn’t know anyone else here in Paris, except for his sisters and their closest friends. Oh, and business associates, but he might as well count those in the negative. With virtually no time for going out, he has to rely on his employees and this one connection he made, regarding social interaction. The usual bleak situation, which might be one of the reasons why he is falling so fast he feels like he’s getting whiplash. Because he _is_ falling, he knows. One more week and they’ll be able to see his giant crush from space.

 

~¤~

 

“Theon, a word please?” Missandei pulls Theon aside after they bid their goodbye.

“Go ahead, I’ll catch up.” Despite looking taken aback, Theon waves at Robb with a reassuring smile. Robb obediently leaves the room, but since he is only there to spend time with Theon, he stays by the doorway. It takes a minute for him to realise he’s essentially eavesdropping.

“Is he another model?” Missandei asks in a not very successful whisper. Porn star, model… Why do all these people think he is like a toy boy or something? Should he start dressing like a stuck-up suit or what?

“What if he is?”

“You have to stop this routine. I know it’s hard to go on after getting cut and -”

“Just because you saw a scar on my forearm, you have no idea what I’ve gone through.”

What are they talking about? Yeah, Theon mentioned a bad breakup, but nothing out of the ordinary about it. Is he deliberately hiding things? Perhaps Robb should play up his understanding qualities in order to be trusted with those secrets.

“True. But please.” She sounds resigned. “At least promise that you won’t be a coward this time.”

“Save your breath and don’t try giving me advice. I know what I’m doing.”

Robb hears them coming closer, so he hastily pretends he’s admiring the wall decoration. When Theon walks up to him, he glances into the studio opposite them and catches a glimpse of an obscene painting of a woman and a cross.

“We aren’t going in there.” Theon states, pulling him back by the elbow, and leads Robb to another room instead.

“Why not? That looked interesting.”

“It’s not for your innocent eyes.”

“Come on. What’s in there?”

“Are you familiar with the R’hllor Sect?”

Stannis Baratheon’s mistress is involved with that, if Robb remembers well. “Yes.”

“There’s a so-called priestess in that studio. She paints things that would make even a prostitute blush. Veiny phalluses, religious equipment used in ways it should never be, cardinals in nothing but their zucchetti, orgies… the whole deal. I have no idea who buys her work.”

“Sounds disturbing.”

“It _is_ disturbing. There should be a warning in front of her door.”

They visit several other studios in the following hour, luckily none of them controversial to that extent. It’s a one of a kind experience, but all in all, Robb would rather keep to the classics. During the entire tour, Theon seems to be at his most charming, a whole different person compared to the borderline rude guy Robb has been texting two weeks ago. Did Robb succeed in wearing him down? Or is he trying to seduce Robb? The latter would be the most useless thing ever, Robb needs no help to develop feelings. Whatever the answer, he is done with the place.

“So, are you going to show me your own work?” He asks the next time Theon halts in one of his speeches about a statue halfway made of tiny stone flowers.

“Don’t you want to see the rest?”

“Next time.”

Theon bites into his lower lip, looking down at his shoes. “You think there will be one?”

In spite of Theon’s negative, dismissive tone, Robb replies “I’ll make sure of that.”

 

~¤~

 

“What do you think?” Theon prompts after Robb spends a good fifteen minutes admiring the beautiful, tasteful nudes and unique faces Theon depicted on canvas.

“I like them.” Robb replies, forcing himself to drag his eyes away from the portrait of a laughing waitress. “They have this… sort of nostalgic vibe that I can relate to and you paint feminime curves excellently. If not that, the vivid colours would capture my interest anyway. Some of your themes are bloody weird, though.” For example, there are various types of squids and mythological sea creatures, either yanking ships into water or fighting each other in frothing waves.

“It’s called symbolism. But those are mostly requested works. I prefer to paint people.”

“You never paint the same person twice.” Robb remarks.

“Observant.” Theon smiles at him almost fondly.

“And I can tell your art comes from a heartfelt place.”

 _“C'est certainement vrai.”_ [That’s certainly true.] Would you like to -”

“What’s that?” Robb interrupts, pointing at a mostly covered piece in the corner, then immediately apologises. “Sorry. What did you want to say?”

“Nothing.” Theon hesitates for a moment, glancing between Robb and the painting, before he pulls off the cloth draped over it. “An experiment with glow in dark paint.”

The figure on the painting is looking straight ahead. His face is made of hard lines and sharp shadows and his eyes… Robb didn’t know it was possible to capture both a damaged soul crying for help and a monster about to attack, but Theon did it. “The guy you broke up with?” He guesses.

“We didn’t officially break up. He went to jail and I into a hospital.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Theon shrugs nonchalantly, an obvious attempt at deflecting. “A few broken fingers, nothing serious.” He says, holding up a crooked pinky. “Now, what do you say about a drink or two? I’m done here for the night.”

That has been the worst attempt at a topic change Robb has ever heard, nonetheless, he goes along with it.

“Good idea.”

“Are you okay with the bar behind _Théâtre du Châtelet?”_

Robb has no clue where that is, of course. “Fine by me.”

“Alright then. Let me get my stuff.”

As they go downstairs once again and exit the building, a thought occurs to him. “I’ve never asked, are you French or English?”

Theon laughs, wrapping a thick red scarf around his neck and pulling up the hood of his coat. “Officially? French. But I’ve spent most of my life in England.”

“It must be hard to identify with one or the other, then.”

Theon hums affirmatively. “I feel like an outsider everywhere. But I guess most people aren’t better off nowadays. Turn right.”

They turn onto a side street that’s full of cafés and restaurants - the closeness of the Louvre, _Châtelet_ station and the fashion district must bring in the crowds. Robb watches the warm light seeping through the front windows of a coffee shop and wishes he brought a hat. The air is surprisingly cold, even for november, and he has no doubt his ears are rosy red by now.

Theon bumps into his side. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really. But if you want to eat we can go to that sushi place over there.”

“Fuck, no.” Theon wrinkles his nose in disgust. “I live above one. We can get something at the bar though, they make excellent sandwiches.”

The aforementioned bar, called _Derniere Bar avant la Fin du Monde_ [Last Bar Before the End of the World] _,_ appears to be a geek sanctuary with board games ready for use. In fact, Robb has never seen so much geekery in one place. There are Wolverine comics and Asimov’s works on the shelves, the welcoming sign asks you to deposit your weapons (there are already two lightsabers on the table), and an E.T. figure holds the specials board. It’s almost full, even though this isn’t a premier evening at the theatre, according to Theon. They find themselves a small table in the corner and sit close to each other on the spacious leather furniture. Robb can’t say he’s entirely at ease, since he hasn’t been on a date he cared about in years - this surely counts as a date, right? - but Theon’s natural sarcasm and bad jokes get him through the first half without too many blunders. The Millenium Falcon clock and the lifesize Gandalf poster provide good conversation starters and after the second “Poison Ivy”, the consumed alcohol loosens Robb’s inhibitions enough that he initiates some physical contact as well.

“Did you always want to be an artist?” He inquires and slides his leg forward until their knees press together.

Theon smirks and pokes Robb’s thigh with a finger. “I could ask the same about your profession.”

“I asked first.”

“All right. No, I didn’t plan to be an artist, it was just… something that I started doing when my father sent me to Dover, and I never stopped since.”

“Your father sent you? What do you mean?”

Theon winces, frowning at his glass, and loses some of the colour from his face. “It’s, ah, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you another time.” That sounded rather like never, but Robb doesn’t force out an answer. If he’s dedicated enough, they will get there in time.

“So, uh, in Dover, I used art as a coping mechanism when I was stressed. After my high school suffering ended, I went to the Uni of Kent for a while and studied bullshit about biology, of all things, but... my original plans fell through and I dropped out. Then I did all sorts of works I hated, until I realised some fools would actually pay money for my paintings. You know the rest. I moved back to France, got myself a studio, yada, yada. That’s how I got here, twenty-five and about to finally finish a stupid degree at the Paris College of Art. You can applaud my achivements now.” He finishes, heavy self-contempt dripping from his words.

“You at least do what you enjoy. Meanwhile I’m consistently tortured by other company heads and whatnots.”

“I thought you lived for your work.”

“I… No, that’s… Okay, I do work a lot. But it’s because I’m the heir of my father’s company, I can’t just up and leave. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because… for one, my siblings would have to take my place then and they would hate it. I won’t let that happen because of me.”

“Oh, so you are playing martyr.”

“What? No!” Robb laughs. “I just take my responsibilities seriously.”

“Keep telling that to yourself. I know the truth.”

“Okay, you know-it-all, can you guess my degrees? I have two.”

“Economics.”

“Yes.”

“And, let’s see… An MBA? Or Finance?”

“Neither. Education.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m a teacher on paper. And that’s what I would do if I had a choice. I’d teach History in a quiet little high school in the suburbs back home.”

Theon looks at him skeptically. “You have literally no ambition or are you just tired to the bone?”

“Both?” Sleep has been elusive since his father’s accident and that, topped with the workload he has makes Robb tired all the time. But when he is with Theon, it’s not more than a dull ache behind his eyelids, something he easily ignores. Exhaustion often makes people credulous - and Robb knows he’s not an exception to the rule - yet he believes he feels better with Theon _because of_ Theon. That thought transforms his initial attraction into something increasingly tangible and defined, an unusual feeling for him: lust.

It’s another hour and three more glasses later that Robb realises he has started giving into that new force and has taken hold of Theon’s hand. Their faces are only inches apart and Theon whispers his name, eyes wide and considering. “Robb?”

“Yes?” Robb bows his head to avoid that piercing gaze and very, very slowly tangles their fingers together. He hears the tremble of excitement in Theon’s quiet voice, so close to his skin, feels his puffs of breath ruffling his hair.

“Do you want to continue this elsewhere?”

Robb makes an impulsive decision then. He leans up and forward to capture Theon’s bottom lip between his own and puts his free hand on his knee, squeezing with the other. Theon lets out a surprised noise, but kisses him back. His lips are soft and warm, and when Robb slips his tongue out, he tastes sweetness and something fresh in the crease of his mouth, a drop of his drink. It’s so luscious that Robb wants to dip inside and revel in that flavour, wants to claim that place for himself even though they are in public. Theon pinches the back of his hand in warning.

“I do.” Robb murmurs as he pulls away.

“Damn. That’s one way to answer.” Theon smiles, looking around with his pupils blown wide. “Now we really do have to get out of here or I might just give these people a show. _Chez toi ou chez moi?”_ [To yours or mine?]

“Er… _oui?”_ [yes?]

His incompetence in French makes Theon laugh at him. “Yours, then. Let’s go.”

 

~¤~

 

They stroll hand in hand through the streets of Paris, a foolish, whimsical action, really, but nobody bothers messing with them. It’s half past eight and the brightly lit boulevards are just as busy as ever. Robb feels his blood thrum in his veins in time with the city’s beating heart as he kisses Theon in front of his door, the keys dangling uselessly from his hand. Theon mumbles something into his mouth that sounds like _allons à l’intérieur_ [let’s go inside], not that Robb’s mind gets it until Theon steps back and shakes his head at him.

“Tell me one thing, Robb Stark. How can you be this bad at French?” He slides the keyring off Robb’s limp index finger to finally unlock the door.

“French is hard!” Robb whines, belatedly realising he should have let them enter. “Half the letters you write down aren’t pronounced and you speak too fast. I can’t separate the words in my head.”

He toes off his shoes by habit while he’s answering, then closes the door behind them. When the lock shifts into place with a loud click, it’s suddenly dead quiet in the hallway. Theon’s standing close enough that Robb can smell his hair and he’s staring into Robb’s eyes, waiting.

Robb clears his throat. “Drink?”

Theon shakes his head and cups Robb’s cheeks with his palms, pulls him down into a sloppy kiss. His fingers slip up to Robb’s ice-cold ears and tug on them playfully.

 _“Oú est ton bonnet, hm?”_ [Where’s your hat?] He teases between kisses, massaging the warmth back.

His touch feels like heaven on Robb’s skin and Robb wants to feel it all over his body until he forgets what it was like to live without knowing it. He murmurs an evasive reply, then closes his eyes and presses forward with his whole body to back Theon into the living room, his hands settling on Theon’s hips.  He didn’t know how much he missed making out, but now, God, does he starve for it. Theon’s a playful kisser, driving him crazy with his roaming hands and mouth. His tongue darts in and out and away after every brief tangle with Robb’s and his teeth graze Robb’s lower lip when he tries to chase after it. He licks and bites and smiles, but never, not once, loses control. They stumble into the bookcase and something falls off with a heavy thud, but who cares, who cares when Theon’s making all these beautiful needy noises into Robb’s mouth. Their coats and Theon’s fluffy scarf drop too, forgotten in the heat of the moment.Robb slides his palms around and into the back pockets of Theon’s jeans to push their groins flush together, rolls his hips against that friction he craves.

“Eager, huh?” Theon laughs breathlessly when Robb trails his lips down to his pulse point.

“Been a long time.” Robb mumbles in answer. He nips at Theon’s collarbone and inhales the sweet scent of his cologne, starting to lose himself to his want. Theon cradles the back of his neck to keep him there, his fingers flexing and releasing as Robb nibbles on his skin.

“How long?”

Too damn long. “Two years.”

“With a man?”

Robb doesn’t answer, just raises his head and looks at Theon, from his plump lips to his confused eyes and back.

“You mean _in general?_ You haven’t gotten any in the last two years?” Theon whispers-shouts in disbelief. Robb nods, smiling in that bashful way he couldn’t quite shake off since his awkward teenage years.

“How’s that possible? You’re a walking wet dream, for fuck’s sake.”

Oh, he definitely knows how that’s possible. Being married to your work and studies are a sure-fire way to get yourself virtually slaughtered on the market of love. And having sex as if it was a mere transaction, a lend-lease between two people for a single night, no, that’s not Robb’s thing. There might be something wrong with him, but he can’t do it without the slightest hint of feelings. It’s frightening that he is attracted enough after three weeks that he will sleep with Theon tonight if they get there. He usually requires at least two months of acquaintance for that.

“I have needs that not everyone can satisfy.” He settles on saying at last.

A slow smirk spreads over Theon’s face and he sneaks a hand beneath Robb’s shirt to trace the muscles under his belly button. “Oh, I’m sure I can deal with that.”

It’s a mad dash from then on, clothes flying everywhere and books toppling off the wooden shelves, Robb’s fingertips skidding over a naked thigh as Theon pants, “We need a bed, right now, Robb, come on…”

They stagger into Robb’s bedroom in a fervent lip-lock, blind to the world outside of each other. They almost end up on the carpet after Theon’s knees buckle, but in the end they make it to the four-poster unscatched. Theon splays over the covers, naked and hard, mussed up hair framing his flushed face. Robb lies on him and kisses the underside of his jaw, gliding a hand down along his sternum to take hold of his cock. He gives it a firm stroke and swipes his thumb over the tip to smooth the way of his movements with precome. Theon gasps and surges up to kiss him, reaching down to reciprocate. Robb’s high rises like a fever and he whimpers as he thrusts into Theon’s fist, so aroused that it’s pure agony.

“Theon” He groans in desire. “I want to fuck you.”

“Fuck” Theon swears and his cock jerks in Robb’s grip. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

Furious nodding. “Do you have -”

“Yes.”

Robb lets go of him for a moment and switches on the lights, rooting in the drawer of his bedside table for what they need.

“Shit. Switch that off.” Theon curses rather violently, tugging a blanket over himself.

“It’s just the bedside la -”

“Robb.”

“Okay, okay.” Who knew it would be such a sensitive point? For Robb it doesn’t matter whether it’s pitch black or broad daylight, he only cares about who his partner is. “I didn’t think you would be shy.”

“I’m not. I just like sex better without a fucking reflector blinding me every time I look up.”

Robb kisses Theon to shut his grumbling up, then makes his way lower to circle a nipple with his tongue. He sucks it into his mouth to make it hard and wet, relishing in the short little moans he gets in reward. When he slides his lips to the other one, the sudden rush of air over damp skin makes Theon shudder, goosebumps breaking out over his arms. Robb smoothes his palms over them and feels jagged lines similar to notches running up from Theon’s wrists to his shoulders.

“What-”

“Shh.” Theon shushes his question. “I had an accident as a child.”

Robb can’t imagine any accident that could cause this precise scarring, but he’s not the epitome of racionality now either. The way Theon’s rubbing himself against his abdomen is a fairly successful distraction. His rock hard cock streaks Robb’s stomach wet where it presses to his skin and one of his feet slides up Robb’s calf, stroking. He draws his nails down Robb’s spine to the small of his back, leaving tingling white lines in their wake. The responsible part of Robb’s brain has a temporary breakdown and he forgets about the scars in favour of rolling on a condom and grabbing the bottle of lube.

“Tell me if I hurt you.” He instructs Theon firmly as he parts his legs, then covers three fingers with lubricant to start preparing him.

Theon snorts, spreading his knees wider. “I’m not a virgin.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Robb’s insistence gets him a roll of eyes, but in this case he counts it as moderate success. They kiss while Robb works the first finger in, slow and careful. Theon’s right hand cards through Robb’s hair, clings and tugs on the soft strands. The rhythmic pull and release of that grip turns Robb’s insides into liquid fire and he adds another digit a little too fast, gets a stinging bite to his lower lip in retaliation. An ambulance speeds away on a nearby road, but its sirens are the only other sounds breaking the slick noises of their lovemaking. Theon’s letting out little grunts every time Robb finds his sweet spot and he has his eyes closed, his hair sticking to his face. There’s a drop of sweat running down his temple. It glistens in the strip of light that shines in through the window and Robb can’t help kissing it away, sipping saltwater off that searing hot skin. He adds the third finger.

Theon whimpers and squirms under him, not to get away, but to get _closer._ He plants his feet on the mattress and starts grinding into Robb’s touch. When Robb pulls back and raises himself higher to glance down, he can vaguely make out a darker shape he hasn’t noticed before on the skin around Theon’s hipbone.

“You have a tattoo?”

Theon sighs in pleasure, still rocking against Robb’s hand, and thumbs the corner of Robb’s mouth. “A flower.”

Robb grazes the tip of that finger with his teeth. God, Theon looks incredible like this, He has to get him to have the lights on next time. “Ready?”

 _“Ah, absolument.”_ [Absolutely.]

Robb lets out a trembling breath and pulls his fingers out. He dribbles some lube over his cock before moving into a comfortable missionary position, and grips Theon’s right leg under the knee to lift it for better access. It bends so easily that Robb can practically fold Theon in half. His surprise must have shown on his face, because Theon lets out a quiet laugh.

“I’ve been a dancer.”

Robb grins as he lines himself up and kisses him, murmurs into the heat of his mouth. “Lucky me.”

“Lucky you.” Theon whispers back and presses his damp lips to the shell of Robb’s ear. His fingers dig into the top of Robb’s butt, trying to pull him in. Robb enters him then with a careful thrust, moaning softly against the fragrant skin of his shoulder.

“You feel so good” He groans. The heat alone could make him come, but Theon’s expression is the thing that undoes him the most. He looks so pleased with himself, like this was what he wanted all along, since the moment they set their eyes on each other. Like feeling the stretch of Robb’s cock in him has made his day. Robb can’t wait to see him come like this. They start moving almost at once and the easy slickness of the first few thrusts sends Robb’s mind reeling. Theon raises his other leg as well, crosses them at the small of Robb’s back, and jerks himself off with one hand.

The sheets are too slippery, Theon’s sliding up and down over them, so Robb has to slip a hand behind his shoulders and under his neck to keep him in place. His stomach is already clenching in anticipation, but he tries to hold off his climax as he builds up a nice rhythm. He lowers his forehead to press it against Theon’s and they exchange messy kisses while Robb’s fucking him into the mattress.

 _“C’est bon, très bon, plus fort…”_ [That’s good, very good, harder] Theon keens quietly and hooks his arms behind Robb’s neck.

Robb groans, hips stuttering from the sudden surge of pleasure. “I’m gonna lose it if you keep talking like that.”

Theon hums and looks at him with half-lidded eyes, wetting his lips. “Didn’t ask you to hold back.”

Robb tilts his chin up with his free hand and presses his mouth to those pink lips, plunging in deeper when Theon makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. He feels the way Theon breathes out through his nose as they kiss, feels his flat chest vibrate with moans after each of Robb’s thrusts, and he can’t possibly take it anymore. His hips snap forward on instinct now as he whimpers and pants. “Not gonna last long.”

“It’s okay. As long as you… fuck, there…”

He begins stroking Theon’s cock to the best of his abilities and everything blurs into that sweet pleasure-pain before the precipice. His fucking turns erratic and he slams into Theon so hard that it must hurt, but Theon just arches his back and comes, his mouth wide open and not making a sound. His muscles squeeze around Robb until he is coming too, desperate and blinded by white-hot relief. It seems as though every last nerve of his body thrums in bliss and for a moment he’s blind and deaf at once, can only feel those burning points where Theon’s body touches him.

They spend minutes catching their breaths and sharing tired kisses, shaking through the aftershocks. Their chests and bellies are striped with Theon’s come, Robb can feel its slickness when he moves, but he doesn’t mind this bit of discomfort. He mouths along Theon’s neck and tries to soothe the sting of the bitemarks he left there, winding his fingers into Theon’s hair.

Theon snickers and pushes at his hips with weak hands. “Get off. My legs fell asleep.”

Robb shifts out of him and collapses an inch away from Theon’s body, shuddering at the loss of contact. He keeps lying there, limp like a ragdoll as Theon scrambles out of the bed and staggers through the door.

“What are you doing?” Robb calls after him. A second later Theon comes back with all his clothes and starts putting them back on. In the darkness Robb can’t see his expression clearly, but it might be regret he sees on his face.

“Going home.”

“No, don’t leave yet. You can sleep here.” Fuck it, he’s about to flee. It figures that the one time Robb’s capable of sex at a normal stage of a relationship he misjudges his partner’s readiness.

“I have work tomorrow morning.”

“Please. I can set my alarm earlier.”

Theon hesitates, worrying his lip. “If I stayed, would you lend me a shirt?”

“Of course.” Clinging to that straw, Robb rushes to reassure him and gathers his strength to stand up. “But you don’t have to dress up.”

“I don’t like sleeping in the nude.”

“Can I ask why?”

Theon crosses his arms over his chest as if to cover himself, shifting awkwardly in his striped boxers. He looks distressed all of a sudden. “My... my ex made me do that all the time.”

“Oh.” The more Robb gets to know, the bigger an asshole this certain ex-boyfriend seems to be. “I’m sorry.”

He goes over to Theon and pulls him into an embrace, though he needs considerable force to do that. Theon’s rigid like a pillar, but once he’s enveloped in Robb’s arms he sags against his chest.

“It’s not a big deal.” He mumbles into Robb’s sternum while Robb’s stroking his back. “I’ll just put on a shirt.”

“All right.” Robb kisses Theon’s forehead, then takes stock of their states. They are in dire need of a shower, but Theon doesn’t look like he wants to part from his precious clothes again, so Robb will have to make do with other solutions.

“My God, we are a mess. I’ll go get us a wet towel. Don’t you dare leave!” He calls out playfully, then steps into the bathroom.

Christ. What has he done?

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are interested:  
> The shadow art is Sue Webster and Tim Noble's work.  
> Statues made of flowers (digital art): Jean-Michel Bihorel


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talks are had and realisations are to occur as everyone has to reassess the new situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely feedback so far, here's the fourth chapter. Have fun! :)

 

Theon’s routine has been moving along perfectly until Robb noticed that stupid painting of Ramsay. None of his previous models did that before! He usually leads them through Rivoli and sweet talks until they are mellow enough to ask for a pose. Then he does the basics of the piece right then and there if they have time, and in case there’s good chemistry, he sleeps with them and never calls again. If there isn’t any attraction, he might ask them for a nude as well.

This time he fucked up. Quite literally too, but that’s not why he feels like shit. Against his intentions, he lead Robb on and didn’t even get a painting out of it. He doesn’t do relationships, not anymore, but Robb has grown to want one as it seems, despite Theon’s firm belief that nobody sane would. Not after seeing him naked, either with the lights on or off. Yet Robb wasn’t bothered, on the contrary, he insisted for Theon to stay, after.

And now he’s pressing his nose to Theon’s neck, settling down to sleep. His front is plastered to Theon’s back and his left arm circles Theon’s waist in a loose hold. The entire position feels too domestic, confining. Theon’s dying to break out of it, while at the same time he’s getting strangely tranquil. In Robb’s shirt, Robb’s bed, Robb’s arms… It has been so long since he had something like this. But he’s too messed up to have it for long, isn’t he. And he should fucking stop crying over spilt milk, that train has left the station long ago, when Ramsay decided to carve his very own sculpture out of his body.

“Hey, are you okay?” Robb murmurs into his ear.

 _No._ “Yeah.”

He hasn’t let anyone fuck him since Ram- since him, for a reason. He has no idea why he allowed it now, but Robb, oh, he has been so good. It has been fast and hazy, because two years are two years, but Theon didn’t mind that, he came buckets anyway. And Robb has been so caring afterwards, it made Theon want to burrow into his embrace and get lost there forever, for those few seconds of post-orgasm high.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Except for your fucking sheets. They are so unpractical and fancy.” Theon deflects, then pauses. “What am I saying, everything around here is fancy. Did you forget to tell me you are royalty or something?”

Robb chuckles at the hyperbole and tightens his hold. Goddamnit, why is he so clingy? And why can’t Theon get himself to simply push him away?

“The flat came furnished.” Robb whispers and slots a leg between Theon’s. “And it was my sister who chose it.”

“Shows. I don’t think I’ve ever slept in a king sized four poster before.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Robb sighs against the knob of Theon’s spine. His left hand moves to Theon’s bare forearm and traces one of the deeper scars there. “Theon, you have to know that I... I don’t care about this. And you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, okay?”

As if it was only the matter of those scars on his arms! Robb has no idea, no fucking idea. It’s easy to say he doesn’t care when he doesn’t _know._ They fall into silence again, reaching an impasse. Theon waits and listens as Robb’s breathing slows, deepens and evens out until he’s sure Robb is asleep and won’t wake up at every movement. Then he wriggles out of the embrace and slides onto the carpet, quiet as can be.

Robb hasn’t noticed. He is sleeping with his mouth slack open, one arm still streched across the unoccupied side of the bed. He does look exhausted, now that all excitement, joy and lust have disappeared from his face. If the circles under his eyes are any indication, this might be the first good blink of sleep he has gotten this week. He’s so real, tangible in his weariness, and all the more beautiful for it. Theon can’t stop himself from pulling the blanket higher over him, to cover his bare torso from the cold of the room. His fingers hover above a stray lock of hair that has fallen into Robb’s eyes and he’s about to stroke it back, but then his father’s words ring in his mind, _useless pussy, I’d be better off with another daughter,_ and he jerks his hand back. Time to get out.

The parquet floor creaks under his feet as he makes his way out the door and through the expensively furnished living room. He folds Robb’s shirt and drapes it over the back of an armchair, then stops, almost goes back inside. He doesn’t really want to leave… But it’d be better for both of them. No complications, no stupid feelings. No chance of hurt.

He exits the apartment as if it was on fire and practically runs down the stairs in his haste to get out. As soon as he’s on the sidewalk he takes a deep breath, almost sobbing when it fills his lungs and chases away the illusion of suffocation. The lack of clouds makes the night crispy cold and clear, and the air he heaves in leaves pins and needles along his windpipe. It feels fucking amazing. With his head free of the fog, he realises what he hasn’t when they arrived - Robb lives circa five minutes from Loustic. Maybe he should just go to the café instead of going home and sleep on the carpet in the staff room.

He starts walking and thinks about what Robb said. He seemed so genuine… Although if Theon remembers right, Ramsay hasn’t been all that different on their first night. Pretended to be his knight in shining armour, pretended to be a gentleman. And Theon has been such a fool to believe him. _Robb might be like that too,_ he wonders and sounds ridiculous even to his own ears. Robb is nothing like that freak.

No matter how he reasons with himself, there’s a hollow ache in his chest as he walks towards station Étienne Marcel. Someone’s blasting that stupid song from Indila, _Dernière danse_ in their car, he can hear it through the windows and it annoys the fuck out of him with its dramatic melody. The people on the street give him strange stares, so it must be obvious that he is on the walk of shame, and it’s getting close to the time the last metro leaves. Another great night in the life of Theon Greyjoy.

 

~¤~

 

Robb wakes with a start, sitting up amongst his rumpled sheets. The early morning light beams through his curtains, but there’s still plenty of time till his alarm rings. He is alone, he realises with a pang in his chest. The pillow next to his is still flat where Theon’s head rested, but there’s no warmth left on the other side of the bed.

“Damnit.” Robb sighs and falls back on the mattress. He more or less knew this was going to happen, but he still hoped for something. Anything. Nevertheless, he’s not going to leave it at this point, he’s too invested for that. If Theon keeps fleeing, then Robb will chase him until he tires him out, just like a wolf.

His phone starts ringing in the back pocket of his jeans somewhere around the threshold, so he gets out of bed and shuffles over to it. On his way, he glances at the clock on his bedside table - 6:15, who could it be?

“Robb Stark.” He yawns into it, scratching his chest. That shower’s well due...

“Hey. Did I wake you?”

“Jon?” That perks him up instantly, surprise calls from New York never bode well. “No, I’ve been up. But you should be sleeping, it must be past midnight over there.”

“You are one to talk about sleeping.” Jon chuckles, then clears his throat. “We have a situation.”

Oh no, just not now. Robb’s already stressed enough for today. “Spill.”

“You’re not gonna like this. Nike’s White Walker has gained ground. They won the Giants deal.”

“Shit.” They have been fighting tooth and nail for that contract. Sports apparel is a well of money that never runs dry.

“Yeah. And they had a breakthrough with the Toronto Wildlings.”

“We can’t afford to loose on the Canadian market.”

“We are about to. Consumer questionnairies say attitudes towards our shoes are dropping. Night Watch must have been too closely associated with the ‘dark side’.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m serious. No one’s convinced by that name. Our PR department is a piece of crap.”

“Don’t say that. Bran and Jojen are working hard.”

“In a closed off bubble for two. While they’re submerging in their precious vision of the future, the whole unit’s rotting away under them.”

Robb rubs his forehead. Jon rarely ever gets worked up like this. He knows that nowadays it’s not sunshine and rainbows for their family on either side, but Jon kept the coolest head so far. He must be on his wits’ end today.

“And Uncle Benjen is a shit director. He’s good at bringing in new business, but not at leading people. Without you here, everyone goes after their own heads. You gotta come home.”

“I can’t. Jeyne can’t stabilize the new branch all by herself.”

“You have to, Robb.”

“I said I can’t!” Robb snaps and immediately regrets it. Jon doesn’t deserve his anger. God knows he has enough on his shoulders as Secretary. “I’m sor-”

“No, it’s me who should apologise.” Jon cuts him off, sounding brittle. “You must be busy. I can imagine it’s hard to remember people are counting on you on this side of the pond too.”

Robb leans his forehead against the beige surface of the wallpaper, trying to calm dow. “Jon.”

“Just one more thing, brother.” Jon’s on a roll now and Robb knows, he feels it in his bones that he’s not going to stop until someone starts shouting. “I’ll tell you point blank: you should stop chasing father’s dreams about expanding to Europe. It’s not your duty to make them true if he’s not coming back to do that himself. Put it on the back burner and come home. Take care of the living.”

Right into Robb’s gut. “Dad’s still living!”

“He barely clings to life by a thread! We have to face it, Robb, sooner or later. He might not come back.”

How did they get from goddamn shoes to his father’s coma? Why does he have to deal with this all by himself? “You did not just say that.”

“I did. Our father might die.”

“He will not!” _He will not._

“Stop being a coward and accept it already. Our father-”

“He is not ours, only _mine._ You are not his son.” All of a sudden there’s dead silence on the other end. Robb doesn’t care, he’s pissed off now. “And until _I’m_ the fucking CEO of this company, _I_ get to make the decisions, not Rickard Karstark, not my mother and not my goddamn cousin. If any of you have a problem with that, I can make sure to fire them personally.” With that, he hangs up and throws his phone into his pillow. It bounces off his ridiculously expensive mattress and breaks into a thousand pieces on the floor. _Fucking A._ Robb leans back and slides down the wall like a torn ragdoll. Paris has never looked drearier before.

 

~¤~

 

Robb doesn’t send a life sign for three days, which is as much of a blessing as a curse. Theon can’t stop thinking about him. About his gentleness, his kind words, his smile, his big co- yeah, about that too. So sue him. He keeps ruminating even at school and gets scolded for negligence more than once. When he finds himself checking his phone every five minutes for new messages, he reckons he needs help. He doesn’t have many confidants, to the surprise of absolutely no one, but there is a girl who doesn’t need to know the whole story to see into his soul.

Dany, or The Queen as her local fan group calls her, is an English girl who always dreams big and achieves bigger. She’s a born globetrotter with a knack for extravagance and an artist on the side. Theon doubts they would have become friends if she hadn’t gotten married and, consequently, pregnant in the fourth month of her Parisian adventure.

Right now she looks about ready to pop, to the extent Theon can tell - which isn’t saying much, he doesn’t know shit about multiple pregnancies. She lets him into her apartment with a blinding white smile, looking like a round-bellied hippie with her hair flowing freely over her back. Much to Theon’s chagrin, her half-Mongolian husband’s home too and looks threatening as ever. Topless of course. Christ, Theon might get a black eye just from looking at his bulging muscles. He has matching moon, sun and stars tattoos with Dany and his long black hair’s gathered into a ponytail. While they are making small talk, he boils some water and makes them tea. He brings Dany a cup and Theon can barely hold back his laughter at the sight of him clutching that tiny piece of china. Dany totally has him wrapped around her finger.

“I see Drogo’s still winning that bench-pressing competition.” It’s a sort of bet between Drogo and his buddies: the first time someone beats him, he cuts his hair.

“Тэд миний төрсөн хөвгүүнээс сул дорой.” Big guy says and cracks his knuckles. Theon tries to become one with the armchair he’s sitting in.

“He said they are weaker than his unborn sons.” Dany translates with a wide smile, petting Drogo’s enormous biceps.

“All boys?” Theon gapes at Dany’s sizeable baby bump. Three boys at once, good grief…

“Yeah.” Dany laughs, then sends Drogo a significant glance. He grumbles something, but stands up and goes into the bedroom, switching on the TV. She waits until the sight is clear before leaning forward, as much as she can in her current state. “What’s up?”

Wringing his hands, Theon sighs. “There’s a guy.”

“Most of the world’s problems start with that.”

He hums in agreement. “We started talking a couple weeks ago. He’s American and so fucking gorgeous, you wouldn’t believe. Blue eyes, curly red hair, nice smile. Very kind as well. And -”

“And you fucked him?”

“Er, the other wa- that’s not important. I mean, he… Dany, I messed up.” Theon whines pitifully.

Dany gives him a flat stare. “That’s the big news?”

“Well, yes!”

“Theon. I hate to break it to you, but that’s your default setting. If there’s any chance to screw up, you will. One day you might set a Guiness record for that.”

Just what he needed to hear. So he’s destined to be a fuck-up, isn’t he? Why bother then. “Pardon me for living.”

“Now you are just being childish.” Silence. It’s damn sure he isn’t going to speak if she’s going to be like that, pregs hormones or not. After a minute-long staring match, Dany sighs and puts her teacup down on the coffee table.

“How exactly did you mess up?” She asks, more serious now. “Tell me you didn’t forget to use a condom.”

Theon shoots her a dark look. “I let him develop feelings for me.”

She considers him for a moment. “By that, you mean the opposite, am I right?”

“Opposite?” What opposite?

“I think it’s _you_ who developed feelings.”

“Me?” That’s completely ridiculous. She might have seen one too many soap operas lately. “I just want to paint him.”

Dany snorts, raising a chiseled eyebrow. They are so expressive on her angelic face, Theon has to make a portrait of her someday. “You _like_ him, don’t you?”

“I’m…” What? Does he? “That’s not true, I don’t -” But it _is_ true. He likes Robb, he realises, and his heart skips a beat at the thought. _Mon Dieu, c’est impossible._ [My God, that’s impossible.]

“Hoo boy, I think I’ve underestimated the situation.” Dany declares and calls out for his husband in a language Theon doesn’t understand. Probably Mongolian. He trots out of the bedroom, grunts, then puts the teakettle on the stove again. “Have you two been on a date yet? Not counting the sex.”

“Yes. Maybe? I don’t know. Does it count if it was spontaneous?” Theon slumps forward and buries his face in his hands. “You know that I don’t date.”

“I know. Why is that?”

He shrugs. “Bad experiences.”

“Fear.”

“I guess so.” He sighs and straightens back up.

“I’ve been afraid too, back when we first met.” She jerks her head in Drogo’s direction.

“Really? But you seem so -”

“Fierce?” Dany chuckles. “That’s my armor. Yours is rudeness.”

“Oh, great.”

“That I can’t help you with, but I can tell you how I changed my own attitude. I thought: if I give him a chance and get hurt, at least I _know,_ right? At least I’ve tried and can safely say I haven’t missed my opportunity to the greatest happiness of my life. But if I don’t give him that chance, I can never be sure if he was the one or not. I think there’s nothing worse than eternal uncertainty.”

Theon does his best not to cry from the frustration his own weakness causes him. “I don’t think I can live through the hurt again.”

“Of course you can. I’m The Queen, I know these stuff.” She punches his shoulder lightly and Theon laughs, ignoring his stinging eyes. “Be brave and get him.”

He plasters on a faint smirk. “Not my style.”

“Then let him get you, whatever.” Dany gives him a sly look. “I didn’t know you were so dead set on being the catcher.”

“Geez, I’m not! I’m a pitcher.”

“Uh-huh, what was that about him fucki -”

 _“Tais-toi!”_ [Shut up!] Theon laughs, face reddening, and covers her mouth with his palm. She giggles into it like a lunatic, until her body freezes and one of her hands fly to her bump.

“Oh.”

Jesus, what now? Theon jumps out of his seat in panic. “What? What’s wrong? Has it started? Should I call an ambulance?”

Dany rolls her eyes. “I’m only in the 28th week, Theon. They are kicking. I think they like it when I laugh.”

Theon turns pale at the thought. How would it feel to have something living in your stomach that’s kicking and has nails and stuff? And likes your laugh? Thank heavens he’s not a woman.

“Do you want to feel it?” Theon shakes his head, but Dany pulls at his hand and presses it to her stomach. Drogo hums as he comes over with the tea and seems to be… smirking? He’s fucking amused about Theon’s reluctance, the bastard. Or, alternatively, he might be planning inventive ways of killing him.

“Is he gonna murder me in my sleep now that I’ve touched you?” Theon asks, sweating.

“Drogo wouldn’t hurt a fly without a good reason. And he’d do it by daylight anyway.”

“How nice of him.” Fuuuck, the babies are really kicking, he can feel the tiny bumps against his hand. Kind of scary.

“They are very active. My little dragons.” Dany beames. ”Rhaegal, Viserion and Drogon.”

Theon pulls back and slaps his forehead in disbelief. “Couldn’t you choose any weirder names?”

“Drogo likes them. Don’t you, my sun and stars?” Drogo grunts again, pulling out a ton of meat from the fridge for lunch.

“Why do you call him that?”

“I’ll tell you after you introduced your pretty boyfriend.” Dany singsongs, making Theon groan.

“Come on, that’s cruel! What if I want to stay a strong, independent -”

“Wuss?”

“You’re lucky I don’t want to hurt your dragons, woman.”

 

~¤~

 

Robb goes to the café on the first Monday after their date. He knows Theon works in the morning, but he isn’t there when Robb enters the place. They are playing hide-and-seek then. All right, the game is on.

 _“Je voudrais quatorze éclairs, s’il vous plaît.”_ [I’d like fourteen éclairs, please.] He has learnt this sentence a few days ago and it makes him proud that he remembered to use it.

Pauline laughs herself sick when he holds up four fingers. _“Quatre éclairs, non?”_ [Four éclairs, no?]

 _“Oui. Merci.”_ [Yes. Thank you.] Well, that was almost a hit. There’s not that big of a difference between four and fourteen, right?

 _“Je t’en prie.”_ [You are welcome.]

He sits by his favourite table and waits, sending off some emails in the meantime. He notices that the door to the backroom opens to a slit every now and then. Pauline always goes over, says something, then the door closes without anyone coming out. Bingo. Theon’s hiding in there.

Robb stands up and strolls behind the counter, but before he can reach the door, Pauline grabs his elbow and pulls him back. She raises a finger to his lips, then mouths _silence_ [quiet]. Robb nods and she slips him a note from the pocket of her apron. It’s an address, 15 Rue Fénelon, and a time, 16:15.

“Is he going to be there?” Robb whispers. She gives him a helpless look, not understanding. “Should I catch him there?”

She huffs and points at the paper in Robb’s hand. _“C’est l’école de Theon.”_ [That’s Theon’s school.]

“Okay.” He gives one more look to the closed door, almost barging in anyway, before Pauline shoos him out from behind the counter.

 

He’s dutifully there in front of the entrance when Theon exits the school. In his dress coat and black slacks Robb sticks out like a sore thumb among the hipster and neo-punk art students mingling around, so it’s not very hard to notice him.

“Are you stalking me?” Theon’s shoulders slump.

“Are you avoiding me?” Robb throws back, crossing his arms.

Theon scuffs his shoes on the concrete. He’s on the defensive again. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk.”

“Alright. We are talking.”

Robb glances around and sees they already have spectators for their little drama - nothing like a gay couple’s fight. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

“I don’t have time for -”

“Please.”

Theon heaves a long-suffering sigh, but nods. “Okay.”

They walk in tense silence as far as the stairs of Église [church] Saint-Vincent-de-Paul, where Theon plomps down on a step like a resolute child. Robb crouches in front of him, not wanting to sit on the cold stone. “First of all, are you okay?”

Theon avoids eye-contact at all costs, nodding. Robb leans a bit more forward, gently putting his hands on Theon’s knees, and repeats it. “Are you okay?”

Theon’s lips wobble, but he still eyes the tree to his right like he wants to burn a hole in it. He blinks, once, twice, then shakes his head.

Robb nearly gasps in relief at the admission. He moves his thumbs in small circles over Theon’s kneecaps, aiming to soothe. “Would it help if I disappeared from your life?”

He holds his breath anxiously. Theon wipes at his right cheek with the heel of his hand, sniffing, then shakes his head again. Now encouraged, Robb takes his left hand. It’s icy cold in Robb’s grip and seems to be trembling. He can feel the way the once broken fingers can’t quite bend properly when Theon tries to curl them towards his palm.

“Would it help if… if we didn’t have sex?” God, was it painful to say. It’s never too easy to explicitly negotiate a relationship, but for Theon’s sake, Robb will gladly go into embarrassing details if necessary. He feels so desperate that he would agree never to top again in his life, despite his recently stoked libido.

At last, Theon turns his head to look at him with watery blue eyes. “Maybe.” He whispers.

“Alright.” Robb nods and smiles. Abstinence he can deal with. It’s nothing, nothing compared to what he has been bracing himself for. He reaches up and puts his free hand on the back of Theon’s neck. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry.” Theon says and a few drops of tears dribble down his face, new ones welling in his eyes. “I’m fucked up, you shouldn’t burden yourself with... I-I can’t do normal relationships… And now I’m crying like a wimp, so pathetic…”

“No, no, shh” Robb shifts forward until he’s kneeling and pulls Theon into a tight hug. “We can make it work.”

“How do you know? I never had a boyfriend except for Rams - _merde.”_

Robb chooses to ignore the slip for the time being, even though that’s the most he has heard of the guy’s name so far. “We will go slow from now on, okay? And tell each other when something’s wrong. We will talk and deal with it together.”

“I still don’t think this is a good idea.” Theon mutters into Robb’s shoulder.

“Would you rather we stayed friends instead?” Leaning back, Robb grabs Theon’s hands again.

“That wouldn’t work for more than two minutes if I know myself right.” Theon smiles at him shakily. His nose is red from the crying and the cold, and his fluffy scarf only halfway covers his neck. Robb tugs it back into place, then reaches up to cup Theon’s cheeks with his hands.

“Two minutes, you said?”

The corners of Theon’s lips curl up and he nods, closing his eyes. Robb grins and dives in for a kiss, keeps it soft and chaste. And if out of Theon’s sight he does a little fist pump of triumph, well, who’s to blame him?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Important steps are taken and we get a glimpse of Robb's troubles too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sick, so I just hope that the quality of this one isn't off. Because of my upcoming exams, the next few updates will be a little bit slower, but I'll post everything as soon as I can. :)

By the time November fades into December it’s safe to say Winterfell Co. successfully established its French branch. Robb’s relationship isn’t quite blooming, but he detects a steady progress since their breakthrough of a talk. However, while he is piling success on top of success in two fields of his life, the third is in ruins. His father isn’t getting better, he doesn’t talk to his mother, his cousin doesn’t talk to him, his sisters are giving him the cold shoulder and he can’t sleep. He’s so goddamn tired it feels like a constant cloud over his mind, an ache in the marrow of his bones. It takes its toll on everything. He’s irritated and impatient at work, antsy at home, has nightmares at night. The only respite he gets is during his time with Theon. In those moments he feels lighter, calmer. Despite that, he is affected in that respect as well. Namely, he is afraid of telling Theon about his problems, because he doesn’t want to weight them on top of Theon’s own issues. That’s why he looks for an other, temporaly aid in his closest colleague.

“Jeyne, I’m so tired.”

Robb whimpers into his phone, still in his office at nine pm on a Friday. Technically he should have gone home right after the weekly meeting, but he wanted to check one last email about that partnership Sansa’s trying to establish with the Golden Rose Company. One email turned into ten and next thing Robb knew, he was answering an overseas call and a German email at the same time. And now it’s completely dark and only the true workaholics keep him company on their floor. His computer screen starts to blur before his eyes. “My head hurts.”

Jeyne lets out a frustrated huff. She’s probably trying to watch her TV show, Robb can hear it in the background. “Then go home, take the pills and sleep. I know Dr. Luwin prescribed you some Stilnox three weeks ago.”

Robb shakes his head, then realises she can’t see that. “No.”

She sighs. “I can’t help you if you keep acting like a stubborn child.”

“I’m afraid I won’t wake up.”

“Darling, I know your anxiety levels have gone through the roof, but please, for all of our sakes. Take your pills.”

“Don’t call me darling.”

“You are like a toddler right now, so I’ll call you what I want.”

“Jeyne…” He whines in desperation and leans forward until his forehead is pressed against his mahogany desk. “Can’t you come over tonight?”

She pauses before answering. “I thought you had a boyfriend.”

“I do. Sort of. But I didn’t mean it like that anyway.”

He can almost hear her raising her eyebrows. “How did you mean it then?”

“If I really have to do this I… I need someone to be there while I’m sleeping. You can stay in the guest room, just… I can’t take the pills alone.”

“Robb, why don’t you ask _him?”_

“I… He might think it’s a come-on.” However nice it would be to do this with him, Robb’s weary to show his weaknesses. He has to keep a strong face or Theon will never start leaning on him.

“And?”

“And he wouldn’t appreciate that, because we agreed not to have sex for a while.”

She groans. “I should have known you have pulled amother mountain of issues on yourself.”

He deems it wiser to keep quiet until she comes to a decision. In the meantime he listens to her breathing and the TV in the background.

“Alright.” She mutters eventually. “I will come over and check for monsters under your bed _if you promise_ to take your medicine.”

“I promise.”

“Okay. I’ll see to that.”

“Thank you.”

 

An hour later they are standing in Robb’s hallway, Robb in long, checkered flannel PJs so as not to make her uncomfortable, Jeyne with a flower patterned overnight bag.

“This is only for tonight.” She warns him as soon as she steps through the door. “Next time you either man up or ask your boyfriend.”

She pulls off her boots, then gives him a once over and smiles, amused. “Now you even look like a five year old. Do you want me to make you hot chocolate as well? Or to read a story?”

Robb glares. “These are comfortable.” And the furthest from obscene it can get.

“You know, next time - there won’t be a next time, but still - you can dress as you usually do for bed. It’s not like I haven’t seen what there’s to see.”

“What do you mean?” He frowns at her. They have never spent the night together as far as he knows, even though they went to the same college and always liked each other as friends. “When did you see me like that?”

“Ah, forget it. I just meant I’ve seen a guy in my life, it’s not going to scare me if you flash some thigh, for example.”

“Okay…” Put it like that, he feels ridiculous for thinking she would be bothered.

“Shouldn’t we go inside?”

“Oh, sorry. Yeah, I’ll show you around.”

They do a brief tour of the flat, then she goes into the bathroom for a quick shower. Robb sits on the edge of his bed, staring forlornly at his phone. Theon has already messaged him goodnight and gone offline, so he can’t complain to him via text. And calling would be inconsiderate, even though Robb’s scared witless right now. What if he won’t get up in the morning? What if he just… stops? Which would be better, living in a permanent vegetative state or passing away?

“I see you are panicking.” Jeyne says as she exits the bathroom. She is in a thin shorts-and-t-shirt outfit that fits her fairly well, but Robb doesn’t feel the slightest twinge of interest. Instead, his guts turn into a tight knot of anxiety at the sight of a box of pills in her hand. This has been the worst idea ever.

“I’m not. And you know what, I think I can sleep on my own, no need for drastic measures. You can go home.”

She tuts at him like a mother hen, waving a pill in front of his mouth. “Open up.”

“I can swallow on my own, thank you.” He mutters and picks it out of her hand, chugging it down with a glass of water before he can chicken out. He imagines it settling and dissolving in his stomach and almost throws up.

Jeyne nudges him until Robb settles on one side of the mattress, under the covers, and she sits next to him, with her back against the headboard. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep, then I’m moving to the guest room.”

“Alright.” Robb mumbles. He would very much like to try sticking his fingers down his throat before he dies, but she watches him like a hawk. No chance of getting rid of that pill now. _There won’t be any problem,_ he tells himself, but it doesn’t help much. _It’s gonna be alright._

“I told your assistant to cancel everything you planned for the weekend.”

“What? Jeyne! Those meetings were important!”

“I know, that’s why I did it. You need to be at your best and that won’t happen without a healthy amount of sleep. And you’ll be drowsy tomorrow anyway.”

Robb groans. “Damn you.”

“How are you feeling?” Jeyne asks, ignoring his comment, and puts a hand on his shoulder. He tries to focus on that warm point instead of the fog he feels settling over his mind.

“I don’t know.” His fingers are clenched into fists under the blanket, the sting of his nails distracting him from his heavy eyelids. “I think it has started to work.”

Jeyne makes a noise of approval. “Come morning you’ll be glad I talked you into it. When was the last time you slept more than four hours without interruption?”

“Three weeks ago.” That was such a great night. Theon felt so good under him, in his arms...

She shakes her head. “You overwork yourself.”

“What can I do? There’s so much to -”

“You have employees, you idiot. You don’t have to do everything by yourself. Stop double-checking and focus on the things only you can do.”

“You sound like Jon.”

“Because I talked to him.”

Robb digs his nails harder into his palms. “I hurt him so bad.”

“You did.” Her hand squeezes him through the blanket. “But he said he forgives you.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t deserve it…”

“Shh. Think of nice things. Like your boyfriend, tell me about him.”

Robb hums, closes his eyes. He just can’t force them open anymore. “Theon’s very funny... has blue eyes and brown hair.” He’s struggling to keep his thoughts coherent, the words are slipping away as he tries to concentrate on them. How are you supposed to form sentences? “Intrigues me.” He mumbles. “Always flirts.”

“He’s an artist, right?”

“Yeah.” Robb mumbles. “I wanna take care of him.”

“That’s very sweet of you. What else do you want to do?” Jeyne’s hand strokes his forehead and he forgets to answer. They fall into silence. Robb’s mind starts to blear the line between dream and reality - he begins to fall asleep. There are fingers on his cheek and for a split second he thinks it’s Theon beside him, then it feels like his mother’s touch. He smiles into it. _Question, there was a question,_ he thinks and searches for answers but the darkness pulls on his mind until he gives in and fades into a heavy slumber.

 

Theon gets into bed at last after some very nice, er… alone time in the shower. He told Robb he was going to sleep, but, you know, some things had to be taken care of first. He’s about to turn off his bedside lamp when his phone beeps, signalling a new message.

“Don’t even dream of it.” He mutters at it darkly. “I’m not working on the weekend.”

To his surprise, instead of a work notice, it’s a text from Robb.

 

22:32 From: Robb

_“Hey babe, you up?”_

 

Babe?! What the fuck? The kind of endearments he could imagine Robb using are darling or sweetheart, not _babe._

 

22:33 To: Robb

“u drunk?”

 

Typing, not typing, typing… Theon raises his eyebrows. Robb must be smashed if he can’t answer that simple question.

 

22:35 From: Robb

_“Do you have plans for tomorrow?”_

 

Huh. Strange. His grammar isn’t off at all. “no. why?”

_“I have an excellent idea. Come over and spend the day with me.”_

“what do u have in mind?”

_“A lie-in. Or lazy day, call it as you will. I don’t want to get out of bed until Sunday morning.”_

“robb we talked bout this”

_“I know! I meant watching movies and eating take out together.”_

“tempting”

_“You can even choose the first film.”_

Really? Let’s test that generosity. “kill bill?” Robb detests Tarantino movies, he thinks they are unnecessarily violent.

After another long pause, Robb sends a vague answer. _“Anything you want”_

Oookay, that’s cryptic as all hell. Why does Robb want him there so much that he would willingly watch Uma Thurman step on an eye? That’s the sort of desperation Theon can’t ignore.

“okay” It’s not like he had anything else to do. And he really wants to find out why he received the sudden invite.

_“Okay? As in?”_

“yes, i’ll go have pajama saturday with you. when should i arrive?”

_“10? 11?”_

“10:30 it is.”

_“Sweet! See you in the morning. :* “_

What? Kissy face? Yeah, Robb can be pretty affectionate, but not... girly. He must have managed to get drunk in the past thirty minutes, somehow. Theon hopes the alcohol will help him fall asleep, because he knows Robb has trouble with that, even though he tries to hide it. With a sigh, he switches off the lights and burrows under his blanket. He streches his arm out so that his hand is lying in a strip of moonlight and he falls asleep like that, dreaming about moon-shadows dancing on his fingers.

 

The next morning while walking towards Robb’s place, Theon thinks over his current situation. True to his words, Robb hasn’t pressed for anything beyond platonic for the past two weeks and he has to admit it makes him relieved. Sex can be a double-edged sword, especially in his case, when half of his life is written into his skin with chemtrail lines of pain. Giving someone time to discover his body would lead to exposing those and he doesn’t think the consequencies would be very pretty. He wants Robb, sure, but another half of him shies away from the thought of giving that discovery a chance. Running away would be the best, but… uhm… Theon might be a bit too involved to actually go through with it. Might. Or it’s just about the lack of a painting. (His inner voice laughs at him. He gives it a mental kick.)

So, no sex. Up until now they kept to kissing instead, pecks on the cheek, eskimo kisses, French kisses - though Theon cathegorically refuses to call them that, they’re simply just _embrasses_ [kisses] - and anything else they can think of. Robb doesn’t have much free time, but he always puts some aside to visit him, either in the café or at Rivoli. Sometimes Theon still gets the urge to hide when he drops by for a quick breakfast. He gets flippant then, hiding not on the other side of a door, but behind noncommittal phrases and shrugs. Luckily (or not), it rolls right off Robb like water poured on glass, which is infuriating and sweet at the same time.

 

Even with all this good evidence in mind, Theon can’t help wondering whether this _rendez-vous_ [meeting] is about getting down to business. If not, then it’ll quickly turn in that direction anyway. Maybe he should ask Robb to draw the blinds and then they can… or he should just get on his knees. Though that sounds rather like the one-sided shit he did for Ramsay. Not a habit he should get into again. Theon winces and runs a hand through his hair, pacing in a circle in front of Robb’s door. _Come on, stop overthinking it,_ he shakes himself like a fighter before the next round and rings the bell.

 

It takes approximately ten minutes and two more rings for Robb to open the door, which kind of undermines Theon’s confidence about his welcome.  When he does it at last, though, it’s instantly obvious why it took so long. Robb is in a ludicrous set of PJs, his hair is flat on one side, mussed up on the other, and he has creases on his face. He looks sluggish and bed-warm as he leans against the doorframe, rubbing his stubbly cheek. It’s obvious he has just gotten up.

“Oh. Theon.” Robb blinks in surprise, then grins and cups Theon’s face with his hands. “Hey.”

His warm mouth is in stark contrast with Theon’s cold lips as he kisses him hello. The lucky bastard doesn’t have awful morning breath which makes Theon super-conscious of the taste of tea in the back of his mouth. He hopes Robb likes elderflower. They sway in place, probably because Robb is still half-asleep and smiling close-mouthed into the kiss as if he was dreaming. A disgruntled neighbour shuffles by, muttering curses in a _patois_ [dialect] that Theon barely understands (Robb probably thinks it’s Croatian), but he catches enough to deduce the guy doesn’t like their “decadent ways”. Just for the hell of it, Theon makes sure to be extra annoying, sucking and nipping at Robb’s bottom lip to make him open up. Oblivious to the show they are giving, Robb lets out a pleased sound, parting his lips, and the fuming stranger stomps away. Theon’s umbrella falls to the floor with a metallic thud.

“Is it raining?” Robb asks, pulling back.

Theon swallows his groan and nods, then pushes his way inside Robb’s flat. “That cold, not-quite-snow type of slimy shit that’s like ice on your skin and never fails to get under your clothes.”

“Sounds dreadful.”

“That’s winter in Paris for you. Cold, wet and grey. Like a bit of good old _Angleterre.”_

Robb shudders and throws his arms around Theon’s shoulders, resting most of his weight against him. He burrows against the strip of skin between Theon’s scarf and jawline and lets out a sleepy snuffle. Theon holds him around the waist, chuckling.

“You woke me up.”

“I can see that. How much did you sleep?”

“Twelve hours or so.”

“Twelve? How -”

“I took a sleeping pill last night.”

“I see.”

Robb kisses the hinge of his jaw. “What a lovely surprise you are.”

Theon leans back and frowns at him. “You asked me to come last night.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then what’s this?” Theon fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket and shows him the texts. Robb furrows his eyebrows in bafflement, as if he was seeing them for the first time. Did the pill gave him temporaly amnesia?

“Oh.” He clears his throat, then mutters something under his breath that sounds like _can’t believe her._ “Guess I did ask you then?”

Theon shakes his head at him, a little concerned. “What are the side effects of this pill?”

“A desperate need for cuddling?”

Ah, nothing out of the ordinary then. Theon snorts and starts taking off his outerwear. Robb tugs on the sleeve of his sweater, giving him pleading puppy eyes. “My bed is still warm. We can slip in and relax a little.”

“I think you just want to sleep some more.”

“I’m drowsy.”

“Okay, okay. But I think we should eat something first.”

“Are you on the menu?”

Theon stops mid-step and gives him a flat look. “Have you ever used that line before?”

Robb flushes, but resolutely keeps up his confident smile. “No.”

“How did I guess?” Rolling his eyes, Theon resumes his walk to the bathroom. “I’ll be the cook. I can see from a mile away that you can’t hold a spatula.”

“So not true.”

Theon gives him a dubious look as he washes his hands. Robb yawns. “I can make pancakes.”

“Those fat ones with the maple syrup that’re instant diabetes? No, thanks. I will teach you a good breakfast dish, just watch.”

 

He makes croque monsieur - of course - even though Robb doesn’t have Gruyère cheese, only cheddar. (Which is just sad.) And the sandwiches end up goddamn perfect, if he does say so himself. Crispy on the outside, gooey-hot on the inside, the harmony of butter, ham and cheese, _délicieux._ [delicious] Robb is munching on his as if it was the best food he ever tasted. Theon can’t keep the smug smirk off his face whenever he glances at him.

“You know your way around a kitchen.” Robb observes, eyeing the last bites on Theon’s plate.

“Would be hard not to after…” Theon stops. Should he? Or is it too much of a moodkiller? A small morsel of information wouldn’t ruin the morning, would it? _Fuck it,_ he thinks and decides to do it, taking a deep breath. “So, my ex - his name is… his name is Ramsay. Ramsay Bolton.” God, that was hard. And fucking pathetic that it took him this long to say, but at least he didn’t stutter. How can a name hold this much power?

“He couldn’t even boil an egg. Not like he needed to try, but... you know, he never cooked. And since I couldn’t wor- I mean, since I didn’t have a job, he made me his housewife, so to say.” He might have cut off his cock too if Yara didn’t find him sooner, but _that’s_ a definite killjoy. “It has some benefits now, as you can see.”

Robb nods and doesn’t press for more, but carries on as if this was a normal conversation. Theon would love to kiss him for it. And he will too, but. Priorities. Like eating. “I can only bake.”

“Bake?”

“Learnt it from my mother. As a kid I had a sweet tooth -”

“You still have a sweet tooth.”

“I don’t.”

“You so do. I had to take an insulin shot after looking into your fridge.”

“Nooo… alright, maybe a little.”

“And you always get a pot of sugar for breakfast, chocolate muffins, éclairs... It’s a miracle you are still toned.”

“Am I?”

Theon scoffs and swallows the last piece of his sandwich. “Don’t fish for compliments.”

Robb smiles and stretches his hand across the table, puts it on Theon’s. “Theon.”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to fly home for Christmas.”

Oh. Although he didn’t explicitly plan to spend the holiday with Robb, Theon feels disappointed. Now he will either have to visit his family (not in a month of Sundays), go to one of his friends or spend it alone. Not a hard guess which it will be. _Fantastique._

“When do you leave?”

“On the 18th.”

“Alright.” That’s in less than three weeks.

“Would you - would you like to come with me?”

“What?”

“I would like to take you home.”

“But - what - Robb, we are hardly even boyfriends, why would you -” Theon gapes at him, taking his hand away.

“I want to spend those weeks with you and my family. I’d show you New York, it -”

“No.” Theon blurts out. “I, shit, I’m not show off material, no, no, that’s - too much.” He jumps up and makes a beeline for the door.

“Wait!”

“Robb, it’s - I’m so sorry, I’ll call you.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Robb catches him around his torso like a rugby player, squeezing him close from behind. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say yes. But please think about it.”

Theon feels a momentary surge of blinding panic go through his nerves at that particular hold. His spine goes stiff as a board and he freezes in place, waiting for - but it doesn’t come, of course it doesn’t, this is just Robb. Robb.

“Theon? Theon!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t fret.”

“You sure?”

“Hm.” Theon turns around and presses his face to Robb’s front to hide his expression. He can feel how Robb’s chest rises with every breath, how his heart beats a calming rhythm, and listening to it helps easing the tension out of him.

Robb leans down and kisses his cheek. “I have the second ticket ready, but you don’t have to come. It’s just an invitation, not an obligation, okay?” Theon hums against Robb’s pecks.

“Worst case I’ll be sitting alone in my comfy first class seat, sipping my lonely champagne…”

“Are you trying to seduce me with your money?” He straightens up and sees Robb shrug.

“If my looks don’t work.”

“You are awfully shallow, _monsieur.”_

“Well, what can I do?”

“You can shut up.”

“Your wish is m-” Theon decides enough is enough and kisses him, hard. For a moment, Robb goes limp like a ragdoll, his head tilting back against the hand Theon has on his nape, then he mumbles. “Wanna see my sports car?” Theon bites his lip.

~¤~  


It’s an entire week later, on the first day of advent, that they step over the barrier Theon set for them. They spend the entire afternoon necking and making out on Robb’s couch until their lips are sore, and then some, like teenagers in their honeymoon phase. It’s a strange experience that sends butterflies loose in Theon’s stomach. Ramsay wasn’t too keen on kissing, thank God in retrospect, and swapping spit with one night stands never had much of an allure, but kissing Robb is a gratification in itself, without any action below the waist. Not that there isn’t anything going on there, mind you.

“It’s getting late. I should go.” Theon whispers into Robb’s ear, trying not to react to Robb’s unconscious hip moves. He is on his back on Robb’s enormous couch, pressed into the cushions so hard he might leave permanent indents in them.

“No, not yet.” Robb kisses the back of his fingers. “Stay a little more.”

Theon swallows. “Alright. But let’s... let’s slow down then, okay?” He says and stills Robb’s rolling hips with his hands.

Robb freezes and blushes, mortified. “Sorry, I didn’t realise -”

“It’s okay. Just - not yet?”

“Of course. Whenever you are ready.” He winds his fingers through Theon’s, then presses his lips to the back of his hand. Theon watches as he plays with it, as Robb’s soft skin skims over his dry knuckles like silk over limestone. There are white crescents on Robb’s nails and Theon has half a mind to tell him he should eat more minerals, but the words catch in his throat from the look in Robb’s eyes. No one has looked at him like that before when he didn’t have blood or bruises on his face. No one. It’s disarming, that look of adoration, for someone so deprived.

Theon bites his tongue when Robb traces the not quite natural bend of his pinky, waits for the questions with baited breath. Is he going to be able to answer this time? But Robb just glances into his eyes and says, smiling “You have specks of paint on your fingers.”

The breath Theon held in escapes him in hearty laughter. “I’m a painter, aren’t I?”

Robb grins and starts scratching the dots off in a futile attempt to get the skin clean. “Green, black, white… and is that orange? What are you working on?”

“A fox-headed woman for some weird Japanese guy. ”

“Uh, good for him, I guess.”

Theon pulls his hand away and cards it through Robb’s hair, turning his head to the side to examine the pictures on the walls of Robb’s living room. All things considered, they are pretty plain, depicting the _Champs-Élysées_ and the _Tour Eiffel_ (because there aren’t enough paintings of those…) and most of them has tastelessly big golden frames. No doubt they came with the flat. Theon’s own works would look infinitely better in their place. Maybe he should… But no, bad idea. Odds are they won’t even exchange Christmas presents and how pathetic would that be if he just showed up one afternoon with a painting as a gift? He would be like a stray puppy looking for a bit of lo- No, let’s not be too eager to dig this hole any deeper.

Theon blinks out if his reverie when Robb kisses his cheekbone and captures his hand again. “If you were a painting, which one would you be?”

“What kind of question is that? Out of my own?” He laughs in surprise.

“Out of every painting out there.”

Guernica flashes behind Theon’s eyelids, but he discards it with an imaginary scoff at himself. Self-deprecation and focusing only on the worst parts won’t get him anywhere. Which painting would he _really_ be?

“Do you know Magritte’s Castle of the Pyrenees?” He ends up saying at last.

“No.”

Of course he doesn’t… Theon sighs and starts wriggling a hand inside his jean pocket to get his phone. His movements make his front brush against Robb’s from chest to knees and no matter how he tries to ignore it, he notices that Robb is raring to go in his too tight pants. Needless to say, it makes things all kinds of awkward. By the time he finally gets the phone both of them are bright red. He types into the search bar, acutely aware of Robb’s clumsy attempts at shifting his weight off his pelvis.

“Here.” He blurts once he has the painting on screen.

“Oh.”

“Hm.”

“Why?”

Theon shrugs and starts drumming his fingers on the side of the couch. “It’s hard to explain… You know that I used to live by the sea practically all my life.” Robb nods. “And I think that’s such an integral part of me that if I were a painting, it had to be on it. So I was thinking about paintings of the sea and... I remember that the first time I saw that piece, I saw the original and it’s not a Rembrandt, I mean - it’s a big painting. Bigger than me. And it literally took my breath away. I stood there for so long that my teacher thought she lost me in the museum. It was a dadaist exhibition and at sixteen I couldn’t care less about avant-garde, but then...”

“It mesmerised you.”

“Yeah. Still does.” Theon strokes his thumb over the screen. “I just stare into that infinite distance and wonder what’s there. Is there another side? Who lives in that castle? Can he see the shore? And of course I love the colours. They remind me of my best days in Dover, that blue sky... And the way it’s static and not at the same time.... The undertow makes it all - I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“No, no.” Robb rushes to say. “I’ve never heard you talking like this about anything.”

“Like what?”

“With passion.”

Theon averts his eyes. “Most things aren’t worth it.”

Robb lowers his head and gives him a short, gentle kiss. He doesn’t force the topic. “Was that Magritte who painted that pipe-not-pipe thing?”

“Yeah. _Ceci n'est pas une pipe.”_

“I never understood that picture.”

Theon laughs. “Its purpose is to make you think. That’s why I love surrealism. You see what you can and what you want to see into it. It’s not about understanding the painter, it’s about understanding a part of yourself and the world. In my opinion.”

“You convinced me.” Robb smiles at him fondly. “By the way, I thought you would be a smoker.”

“Why are we jumping between topics?” Theon grumbles, focusing on the light beige ceiling instead of Robb’s eyes. “I used to be one.”

“What changed?”

 _Everything,_ would be the honest answer, though Theon doubts it would suffice as an explanation. He shifts his gaze to Robb’s and searches his eyes for a moment. _He’s not gonna hurt me,_ he thinks. _It’s safe._ With an unsure grip, he takes Robb’s hand  and pulls it towards his hip, then guides it under his shirt. Slowly, he presses his thumb to a raised point over his skin, just above the waistband of his pants.

“What’s that?” Robb asks, tracing gentle circles around it.

“Cigarette burn.” Theon answers, voice shaky. “He put it out on me.”

“Shit.” Robb whispers and halts his stroking. Theon misses it already.

“I have more, but that was the first. I haven’t taken a whiff since.”

“Theon, I’m -”

“Don’t.” What would being sorry accomplish? Absolutely nothing. And if Robb is going to start apologising everytime Theon shows a scar, he will never have a chance to say anything else.

“Alright.” Robb sighs. “Is that why you have that tattoo? To cover it up?”

“In part. But - well, it’s easier if you just see it for yourself.”

In for a penny, in for a pound, Theon reaches between them and unbuttons his jeans, brushing Robb’s stomach with his knuckles. He pushes the garment down an inch, then pulls the edge of his shirt higher. Robb looks down at his bare hip cautiously, shifting to the other side.

He frowns. “A forget-me-not?”

Theon nods. So far so good. No panic after showing a naked hip in clear light. “They generally mean you will be remembered by a loved one. But for me, it’s simply remembrance.”

“Isn’t that sentiment counterproductive? For coping I mean.”

“No, because I -” He never told this to anyone, the idea stayed only in his head. It seems foolish, now that he’s saying it out loud. “I don’t want to forget it. I want to remember that I stood up and started a new life. A good one, I hope. And I want to remember that I came out of that dark place. Because… because it was a very dark place, indeed.”

“I’m glad you did.” Robb says quietly, utterly serious. “I’m so glad.”

He kisses Theon on the lips, on the forehead, on the cheeks, all over his face until Theon squirms in his arms. Only then does he trail his lips down Theon’s neck, his thumb still rubbing at the mark. His mouth leaves a line of tingling spots as he moves lower on the couch and cages Theon’s hips with his arms.

“What are you - oh.” Theon gasps. Robb presses a kiss to the mark,  traces the tattoo with his lips. His stubble scratches the sensitive skin as he starts nibbling on the spot and that sensation, coupled with the emotional aspect of the gesture gets Theon hard as steel in a minute. Robb must have noticed, because one of his hands move up Theon’s thigh and caresses his belly, straying lower and lower until it hones in on his zip. Theon clasps his fingers around Robb’s wrist in an iron-tight grip, looking at him sharply. Robb holds his gaze for a moment, then moves up until he can kiss him properly.

“Please.” He whispers, not moving his hand. “Let me make you feel good.”

After a brief hesitation, Theon lets go of his wrist. “Don’t undress me.”

Robb nods and presses a close-mouthed kiss to his lips. He pulls the zipper down and opens Theon’s pants, slipping a hand inside. Theon gasps again as he pushes his underwear out of the way just enough to touch his cock and give it a light stroke. He clutches at Robb’s biceps, self-conscious, yet aroused. He hasn't slept with anyone since their night together, which is almost a new record, therefore he's much more sensitive than usual. Robb starts working him, but his grip is too dry, so he raises his hand to lick his palm. He flushes after he does it, and that’s the moment when Theon thinks he’s gonna die of want. Robb's just too cute sometimes to resist. He swallows most of his noises, but one broken moan does escape him after Robb twists his hand on the upstroke, and Robb’s rhythm falters for a second upon hearing it.

“You don’t have to stay silent.” He murmurs and increases the speed. “I like the sounds you make.”

It’s barely more than rubbing, this handjob, just a slow up and down move, an ebb and flow. But the intimacy of it makes Theon feel ripped open. There’s nothing filthy hot about it and nothing rough, it’s just one of Robb’s ways of taking care. And it’s so good to be on the receiving end of that care that Theon’s chest tightens with an unfamiliar ache. Robb keeps looking into his eyes or nuzzling his face and he just lies there and takes what Robb has to give, in silence and desire.

“Let me hear you.” Robb repeats between kisses and moves his free hand to tangle his fingers in Theon’s hair. “I want you.”

Theon whimpers and bucks his hips, shaking his head. Robb shifts his weight and pins him down firmer, presses his forehead to the side of Theon’s head. “Believe me, I do. I want you, Theon.”

At that, Theon’s climax slams into him with the force of a freight train and leaves him in tatters with only Robb’s touch as an anchor. He comes shaking and gasping nonsense in French, with tears stinging in his eyes. But crying again is a definite no go, so he buries his face in the crook of Robb’s neck and wills himself into taking deep breaths. He can hear how Robb opens his own trousers and brings himself off, the wet sounds of his pleasure, his panting, but he doesn’t have the presence of mind to do anything about it. Robb comes with a hitch in his breathing, trembling through it until he goes limp on top of Theon. They lie there unmoving for several minutes until Robb lifts up just long enough to redo Theon’s jeans.

“You ruined my shirt.” Theon whispers.

“Sorry.” Robb replies and leans his sweaty forehead against his shoulder. Theon listens to the rhythm of Robb’s breathing and tries to make sense of the ache in his heart, watching a golden framed Parisian evening on the wall. _Quel est ce sentiment étrange?_ [What is this strange feeling?]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The castle of the Pyrenees: https://www.renemagritte.org/images/paintings/the-castle-of-the-pyrenees.jpg
> 
> The treachery of images: https://www.renemagritte.org/images/paintings/the-treachery-of-images.jpg
> 
> Guernica: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/7/74/PicassoGuernica.jpg/350px-PicassoGuernica.jpg


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys start opening up and understanding each other with various levels of success
> 
> WARNING: brief discussion of traumatic event

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update will be a fluffier one, a Christmas chapter. :)

 

“How do you want me?” Robb starts, oblivious to the double entendre, making Theon choke on the mouthful of water he’s taking from his bottle. “How should I pose?”

He is fidgeting next to Theon’s easel in nothing but a navy blue bathrobe, waiting for him to set things up for their first session. There won’t be any painting this time, because for quality work Theon needs preliminary sketches to capture the essence of his subject and to choose the final body pose. It’s a good thing, considering that they are in Robb’s bedroom. The heat is turned up and the soothing sounds of soft jazz fill the air to make the ambience as comfortable as it gets. It’s far from ideal, since Robb didn’t want to pose in the studio and Theon didn’t want to take Robb to his own place, but the luxurious bed makes for a really nice background and has interesting textures.

 _“Ça dépend._ [It depends.] How much are you willing to show?”

Robb’s cheeks heat up. “Not everything…”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to undress, then I’ll just paint your pretty face.”

“No, I’m okay with… just not… I don’t think I want to show...” Robb stammers, making vague gestures around his crotch. Theon laughs at him and reaches out to rub his shoulder.

“I can work with that. Strip and lie down on the bed.” When Robb keeps staring at him expectantly, he adds “Do you want me to turn around?”

“Uh, no.”

In spite of Robb’s answer, Theon busies himself with arranging his pencils and papers until Robb settles. He doesn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already is - God knows Theon is aware of the strength of watching eyes. When he eventually turns around, he sees Robb sitting with his arms crossed over his chest and a thick pile of blankets in his lap, covering him from hip to toe. He looks like a fish out of water, so stiff and unnatural that Theon has to smile.

“Not quite.” He goes over and the first thing he does is pulling the sheets off Robb’s left leg. Robb yelps and clutches at the fabric covering the rest of him.

“Sorry, I should have asked specifically.” Theon apologises, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. “You okay with legs?”

“I think so?”

Thank God. It would be a shame to hide those. “Butt?”

“Er… is that a possibility?”

“Of course.” Theon laughs. “You have nice curves there, I’d love to paint the lights and shadows on them.” _And bite into those globes._ Ugh, better not to say that aloud...

Robb gives him a wide-eyed look. “My ass has nice curves?”

“It sure has. I pay attention to these things, even if I don’t tell you everything I notice.” Like the mole on his earlobe or the slightly stronger muscles of his dominant arm or - lots of things, actually. “So, what about your butt?”

Robb rubs his own upper arm, blinking rapidly, then nods. He seems too unsure about it to Theon’s liking, though, so for the first drawing they will stay with the original idea and do a frontal setting.

“Alright. I’d like you to sprawl a little, can you do that?”

Robb scoots down until he can lean back against the pillows in a half-upright position. Theon looks him over and hums, squinting in thought.

“Still too rigid.” He mumbles and rearranges the covers to bare the other leg as well. Better, but now that’s too vulnerable, especially with Robb’s hands clasped in his lap… Oh.

“Let’s put this here -” He places Robb’s left arm on a pillow, loosely outstretched, then takes hold of the other and bends it at the elbow. “- and with this one, support your head.”

“Okay.”

Theon dusts a stray lump of lint off Robb’s shoulder and Robb shudders, getting goosebumps. “Cold?”

“No.” Robb whispers in answer.

They stare at each other, so close that Robb’s breath fans over Theon’s face, until Theon can’t take the tension anymore and leans in to kiss him. Robb whimpers into it and opens up in an instant, as if he was just waiting for Theon to snap the whole time. Theon gives them this moment of weakness - so unprofessional, making out can come _after_ he has the drawings, damnit - then he leans back. Robb lets out a discontented noise and his mouth follows Theon’s as long as it can without breaking the pose. Theon groans at the sight and dives back in, harder, for just one more minute…

Ten minutes of intense kissing later he manages to part from Robb’s delicious mouth with his hand flat on Robb’s chest, pushing lightly at its center. Robb’s lips are red and shiny as he pants, eyes closed. Theon puts a hand under his chin and raises it an inch, strokes a curl behind his ear. Robb’s eyes flutter open and he glances up at Theon from under his lashes, his pupils blown.

“Hold this pose.” Theon gasps and hurries over to his stool.

 

Robb turns out to be a perfect model. He stays still, looks gorgeous in any position and doesn’t ask annoying questions. The hours seem to fly away as they work and Theon does end up drawing his butt, which is arousing and awkward in equal measures. It’s only around the last quarter of their session that Robb starts squirming and huffing through his nose. Theon gives him a patronising look. “Tell me if you want to take a break.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

Robb scowls, an expression Theon rarely ever sees on him and his biceps twitch again. The stubborn idiot can deny it all he wants, but he is tired, it’s obvious. They will stop after this last sketch, Theon decides. He’s tempted to draw that straight, vertical line between Robb’s eyebrows that makes him look like an irritated wolf, but it would be at odds with the serene features he sketched on the study he’s currently working on. On the next one, though, provided he can get Robb to do more later, he will make sure to depict that frown and the pouting lips. It might be weird, but he finds the expression cute.

“I feel like I’m Rose in Titanic.” Robb says out of the blue.

Theon raises an eyebrow. “I can put on some Céline Dion.”

“God, no. She’s way too sappy to bear.”

“Too sappy? I thought that wasn’t in your dictionary.”

Robb chuckles, his frown lines disappearing. He looks debauched, reclining on the bed with a leg bent at the knee and only a sheet to keep his modesty, and for a few seconds Theon forgets he’s there to draw that sight with grey-black graphite lines. Jesus, he can’t wait to get to the actual painting part. Just a colour study after this and then...

“Did you paint him like this too?”

“What?” Theon clears his throat and turns back to his work. “Who?”

“Ramsay.”

“No. He wouldn’t pose for me.” Well, he would have, that one time. Ramsay and his friends went hunting and he had a flayed hare in his bloody hands. He would have liked a picture of that, but Theon found the sight too disturbing to paint. “But I made sketches of him when he slept or read something. I used those for painting. Or photos.”

“Do you have sketches of me? Besides what you drew today.”

Theon gives him a secretive smile and draws a hint of playfullness into Robb’s eyes. “Maybe.”

 

~¤~

  


After all those hours of sitting in one place, Theon collapses face first into Robb’s bed. Robb curls up against his side, fresh out of the shower and dressed now, and pillows his head on Theon’s shoulderblade. He didn’t know posing was this exhausting. In the movies it looks sexy and intimate, which it is, in part, but they never show how freaking _boring_ it gets after a while. He feels drained and sleepy, even though he purposefully skipped taking his pill last night. He wanted to be alert and attentive.

He’s almost asleep when Theon bends his knees and rolls his feet to get rid of the stiffness in his ankles. On impulse, Robb reaches out and strokes a finger along the sole of his right foot. There’s a scar in the center of it, a circle of wrinkled tissue. When Robb touches the other one, he realises Theon has the exact same scar there. He frowns, sits up and takes hold of Theon’s ankle to examine it more closely.

“Did you step on nails?” He asks, coming to a conclusion at last.

“Sort of.”

“What happened?”

Theon hums nonchalantly and turns onto his side, facing Robb. “I’m Jesus.”

Robb snickers and lies down opposite him. “You turn water into wine?”

“No, but I did come back from the dead once.” Theon has a glint in his eyes that suggests he isn’t lying.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

Alright, so this is going to be an important talk. Robb gulps and hesitates for a moment before repeating his previous question. “What happened?”

“I’ve died. More precisely, I went into cardiac arrest. When I was six.” Theon casts his eyes down. “Rodrik and Maron - my brothers - said I could play with them if I swam across the Channel. And we were in Le Havre. I was so stupid and desperate that I tried, but I was too weak and too small to get further than a kilometer. The waves took me under. The captain of a smuggling boat rescued me and performed CPR. They told me I’ve been submerged for circa three minutes.”

“Christ.” Robb takes hold of Theon’s hand and gets a faint smile in reply. “Do you remember what it was like?”

Theon closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Not really. One second I was flailing and thinking England must not be very far now, in the next I was under an endless wave. I remember the squeezing…”

“Squeezing?”

“My lungs, when they started to give up… I remember that one moment I was still holding that little breath I had, then I just couldn’t anymore and tried heaving and it - the water started to flow inside and it h-hurt so much, it was so cold that I thought I was breathing ice. Then I felt that… squeeze around my throat and in my chest, that extra strong beat of my heart and… and I knew, I knew that was it. And you know what’s weird?”

Robb shakes his head, feeling breathless himself. “That even though it was the scariest moment of my life, in the last second, when everything faded away and my body stopped, there was only something like… calmness. Or resignation, I’d say. And if I think back, that last part is what gives me real fear.”

Robb tightens his hold on Theon’s hand. “Why?”

“Because if I know what it feels like, I can want it for real.”

“Are you saying -”

“That I think about death? Sometimes I do. After the things I went through it’d be more of a surprise if I didn’t. But don’t worry, those are just thoughts.”

“Those are very dangerous thoughts. Theon, I think you… Do you have a therapist?”

Theon scoffs and pulls his hand away, turning onto his back. “I’m done with that.”

“If you have thoughts like that, you shouldn’t be.”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“It _is_ my concern because I’m your boyfriend. I think it’d help if you had a professional to talk to.”

“Oh, you know what’s good for me, don’t you? Just what I needed, being told what to do with my life. Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Robb snaps, his irritation seeping through the crack on his patience. Theon flinches and turns fully away from him. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Robb sighs. “I just want to help.”

“I don’t need your fucking help.” Theon snipes, sitting up with a vicious face. “I’m not some charity case who will carry you on a golden platter for being kind, so you might as well stop playing savior. What’s in it for you anyway? You get no sex, no money, no prestige, not even a goddamn slave to play with.”

“You, you are in it for me. I like you and I want you to be happy.”

Theon lets out a dark chuckle. “I don’t believe that.” Robb suspected he didn’t. He knows Theon is just acting out at the moment, but it still hurts to hear these things thrown to his head. “Fuck, why did I even tell you all this shit -”

“Theon, please calm down -” Robb sits up too and reaches out, but his hand gets slapped away.

“I won’t fucking calm down! I’ve been fine, perfectly fine until you came around with your stupid face and your stupid words and all these goddamn feelings I didn’t ask for, but still feel and just - fuck you.”

Theon buries his face in his hands and goes on like that, voice muffled. “Fuck you, Robb. You and your perfect world. Make me want things that I can’t have because I’m a fucking mess. Pointless, just like trying to swim across the Channel. _Merde, je pleure encore.”_ [Fuck, I’m crying again.]

Robb reaches out once more and this time Theon collapses into his embrace without any resistance. His back is shaking from the sobs that are whacking his body as if this fight has broken the dam to all he tried to keep inside. He cries and Robb tries to soothe him even though his back starts cramping and he’s getting pins and needles after a while.

“Want to hear my diagnosis?” Theon hiccups quietly into his chest after a good half an hour of weeping. His voice switches to a monotone.  “Childhood trauma, parental neglect, low self-esteem, risky sexual behavior, past abuse, fear of commitment. Nice list, huh?”

Robb closes his eyes for a moment, sets his jaw and tries not to say anything. It would just make Theon spiral and wallow in his misery all the more. He knows how this works. Theon tries to provoke an answer that supports his theory of hopelessness, then riles himself up until he’s physically unable to do so anymore. They have gone through this cycle once before, not long after the handjob incident, though Robb has to admit it was a lot less dramatic conversation.

“I’m a lost cause.” Theon sniffs and sighs.

Without a verbal reply from Robb, he’s calming down. Some of the tension eases from his shoulders as he says it and he starts taking shaky, but deeper breaths. Robb hesitates to open his mouth, lest he induce another breakdown, but he feels like they can begin moving on now. “Where did you get that diagnosis from?”

“Read it in my therapist’s notes when he ran out for a moment, probably to take a piss.”

How unethical. Robb would have a few spare words for that dilettante who let Theon see that description. He doubts that therapist did anything to increase his belief in successful recovery, and now he flat out thinks he’s beyond help. Robb can’t let him give up that easily, though.

“You didn’t sound like you are over it enough to quit therapy.” He comments cautiously, running a hand along Theon’s spine.

“Whatever. I quit right after my sister got off my back. I hated that guy.”

“You should start going again. We can find someone else -”

Theon pulls away and glares at Robb defiantly, despite his puffy, red eyes. “You can’t force me.”

“I don’t want to force you.”

They hold each other’s gazes until Theon’s lashes flutter and he looks away, new tears welling in his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, touching Robb’s forearm with unsure fingers, his eyes flickering back and forth between Robb’s face and the mattress. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean the things I said, Robb, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

Robb lets out a breath and hugs him again. “I know.”

“Are you mad?”

“No, I’m not.”

“I knew a relationship was a bad idea. I told you. We should break -”

“Nope.” Robb squeezes him tightly. “We should find you a new therapist. A woman.”

“A woman?”

“Yeah. I’m reasonably sure you didn’t like your previous therapist because he was a man and you felt intimidated by him.”

Theon pauses, not even breathing for a second when the realisation hits him. “Perhaps.”

“Do you feel the same way about me?”

“No. I have positive feelings about you.” Theon leans back, wipes his face and smiles at Robb, with just a trace of uncertainty. “Very positive.”

Robb smiles back in relief. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.” Theon casts his eyes down again and starts scratching lines along his left arm, an involuntary nervous tick. “Sorry about my... tantrum. I guess I’m too tired.”

“Stop that.” Robb stills his hand. “It’s okay. You had to let that out.”

Theon sighs, but doesn’t try to deny it. He’s coping, Robb knows, and it’s a long process with its fair number of ups and downs. For things to really move in the right direction, they need to get through episodes like this. And everytime Robb handles one, he reaches a new level of trust. At least, Robb hopes he is right about how it works and they will see some improvement soon. He provides all the patience and understanding he can muster, but he isn’t a saint either and one day he might snap like he did with Jon if Theon finds the wrong buttons to push.

They spend a few minutes in silence, watching their clasped hands, before Robb clears his throat. “Will you spend the night?”

“I don’t know, Robb…”

Theon’s backing out of the situation the way Robb imagined. No matter, he’s going to try coaxing him into staying. “No sex, I promise.”

“Like last week?”

“Last week we got carried away. Tonight we won’t, unless that’s what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Then we will figure it out together. Let’s start with some cuddling, hm?”

Theon lets out a short, but genuine laugh. “You always want to start with cuddling.”

“Because I _love_ it.” Robb says and leans in to nuzzle Theon’s neck. He lies down on his back and pulls Theon along until they are almost-snuggling on top of the covers. Now the only thing Robb needs is for Theon to reciprocate the embrace. However, it isn’t as easy as it sounds when it comes to someone as unpracticed as him.

“Where can I… is it okay if I put my arm…” Theon stutters and moves as if he is afraid of squishing Robb’s chest with his arm. “I fit into your creases like a cube into a ball.” He mutters with a dark look, then huffs and turns onto his back, half a meter away from Robb. “I can’t do this. Sorry.”

“None of that. What about this?” Robb turns onto his side and snuggles up to Theon like that, with him in the clinging position. It’s much more suitable anyway, since he likes hugging things even if he only has a pillow to embrace.

“Better.” Theon replies and puts a careful arm around Robb’s back. He lets out a long exhale and drops his hand to Robb’s waist. “Much better.”

“I’m glad.” Robb closes his eyes in contentment, ready to sleep. “I really like doing this with you.”

“We aren’t doing anything.”

“Yet I still love it.”

“You are crazy.”

Robb smiles against Theon’s shirt. “Aren’t we all?”

 

~¤~

 

On the 10th, Theon wakes up on Dany’s couch. For a moment he has no idea what the hell he’s doing there until he remembers that Drogo asked (ordered) him to look after his wife for the weekend until he took care of some business deal. In his own words, he chose Theon for the task because “he is a mature stallion who prefers the bachelor herd”, which is almost the opposite of Theon’s actual sexuality, but whatever, if that makes him sleep better at night… So Theon stayed and watched for any sign of a starting labour, but thank heavens nothing happened. Now the only remaining question is why he woke up. The mystery is answered soon enough when his phone whistles and lights up with the second incoming text from Robb.

_“Hey, are you awake?”_

_“Theon, can I call you?”_

“y” He sends back and while waiting, he puts on some water to boil for his morning tea. The kettle’s just starting to heat up when Robb calls.

 _“Bonjour, mon cœur.”_ [Good day, my heart.]

Theon smiles at the teabag in his hand. _“Salut,_ Robb. Looked up a few endearments, hm?”

Robb chuckles. “Yeah.”

“Why so sweet today?”

“No reason.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Alright.” Robb laughs, his voice like spun gold in his good mood. “I want to go to a Christmas market.”

Theon takes a glance at the overcast sky, then rolls his eyes and turns back to his tea. “Have fun.”

“Theeeon.”

“Rooobb.”

“Come with me.”

“No.”

“Please, why not?”

Because those markets are ugly, expensive and garish. And Theon doesn’t want to catch a cold. “Because I don’t like them.”

“I bet I can change your mind.”

“You can’t.” Robb lets out distressed noises until Theon can’t help, but laugh. “Damn you. If you really want me to go I guess I can, just this once.”

“Yes!”

“But I’m not going to the Défense. You can choose between Montmartre and Notre Dame. And I warn you it’s -”

“- gonna be packed.” He intends to say, but the phone is out of his hands sooner than he can blink.

“Hello there, I’m Daenerys.”

 _“Dany!”_ Theon whisper-shouts at her and tries wrenching the phone back. She uses her baby bump as a shield, practically, and keeps him away from her hand. _“Give that back!”_

“Theon’s only friend, not counting his fish.” She says to Robb, ignoring whatever Theon has to say.

_“Hey!”_

“I see, so he didn’t tell you about me.” She smirks at Theon and starts retreating towards her bedroom. “I can assure you, he spoke lots about you. In detail. You can’t blame me for getting curious.”

Theon’s face darkens and he mimes cutting her throat. Dany just grins at his threat, then laughs at something Robb says and closes the bedroom door. Theon throws his arms up in the air in frustration and goes over to the couch to plomp down on it. He can hear Dany’s annoying giggling and sometimes his own name from behind the closed door.

“Of course they get along like two peas in a pod.” He grumbles to himself. “She’s gonna get my own boyfriend to gang up on me, unbelievable.”

Oh. He said _boyfriend._ It’s a little bit thrilling to say that word, even though Theon tries to suppress his elation when it comes to anything in connection with Robb. Is it normal that he starts to think of him like that? In terms of connection and… belonging? He doesn’t trust him with his body, with sex, but he does with his soul, can that be normal?

All of a sudden, Dany tears open her door and emerges like a regal queen, who may or may not have spent the last three minutes trying to get up. She smiles at Theon triumphantly. “You have a rendez-vous at the stairs of the Sacré-Cœur at two.”

“Great.” Theon huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Aw, don’t be like that. He’s a cutie. Poor boy didn’t know what to get you for Christmas. I told him you like marzipan.”

Theon groans and slaps his forehead. “He’s going to get me an entire cake.”

Dany just laughs at his misery.

 

~¤~

 

The Christmas market in Montmartre turns out to be a blast. Yes, it’s crowded and yes, it’s kitschy and expensive, but Robb does love it and that’s what matters the most. And Theon has to give it to him, the place has its own magic. The scent of pine, cinnamon, clove and crêpes wafts through the air and his first mouthful of mulled wine warms Theon from head to toe. He wraps his hands around his mug and blows across the hot liquid’s surface. Robb has an arm around his waist, all casual, like it’s nothing, like the seller hasn’t just given them a suspicious look. It feels very nice, how Robb just shrugs and says, _my love, my business,_ with that continuous touch.

“What’s Christmas like in your family?” Theon asks, eyeing a pair of gloves one stand over. Robb has icy cold hands, he should get him something for that.

“Busy. First off, I have fi- four siblings who never leave me alone, but I love them to death.” Robb smiles. “Then there’s my cousin, Jon, he will be there too, of course. My parents, my crazy Aunt Lysa and her son, so at least… ten people. And Sansa will bring her boyfriend this time. I don’t know about Jon, we haven’t talked since I - uhm, but he might bring someone too.”

“It does sound busy.”

“Yeah.” Robb swallows the last gulps of his drink. “We have a giant dining room -”

“Like a royal dining hall with servants and stuff?”

Robb grins and knocks his hips into Theon’s. “Shut up, I’m not royalty.”

“You keep saying that.”

Robb laughs. “So a big dining _room_ with a long table where we sit for dinner. Bran keeps guessing what we got him - and he’s usually right, I don’t know how he does it - and Rickon, my youngest sibling, puts away half of the sweets before we even sit down to eat. Mum always buys a turkey, like she does at Thanksgiving, and no one can eat until my father cuts it up and…” He trails off and glances at Theon almost nervously. “This year I guess it will be me. Who cuts up the turkey.”

Theon nods and smiles, but Robb looks away. “I’m not sure I know how to - Dad has always been the soul of the whole thing, you know. Keeping everyone together. He was - is really good at being the head of the family.”

“You’ll be good too.”

A small smile flashes over Robb’s features. “I hope so.”

They walk for a few minutes until Theon finishes his wine and laugh when a little girl gapes and points at a group of guys who _all_ dressed as _Papa Nöel._ [Santa] When they stroll past the last stall, Robb glances around, then pulls Theon into a slow kiss.

“Reckless.” Theon breathes against his lips. Robb just kisses him deeper. He tastes like Christmas, sweet and warm.

They sit on a bench that’s halfway secluded from the buzzing crowd and make out there in the open, blowing heat into each other’s mouths. Theon wonders how many little girls point at them and pulls away, dropping his head to Robb’s shoulder. Free country, free love, but this really is reckless. No one desires to fight next to a stall of gingerbread figures.

“Have you thought about my invitation?” Robb asks quietly, his voice barely audible over the _Petit Papa Nöel_ that’s played at one of the market stands.

“Yes.”

“And?”

Theon sighs and straightens up to look Robb in the eye. “I… I’m truly sorry, but I have to decline.”

“Wow.” Robb winces. “You are very official about it.”

Theon draws a line into the frozen ground with the tip of his shoe. “I have to say no, because it’s too soon. This morning, at Dany’s, I said you are my boyfriend and I realised that… that it was the first time I said it aloud when I thought about you in that way. Which means I’m still getting used to the thought. We aren’t having sex -”

“That can be remedied.”

“- and I can’t regulate my emotions properly. I don’t think we should test how well I can fare with your family.”

Robb purses his lips. “Are you saying that because of what happened the other day?”

“Not entirely.

“But it does affect your decision -”

“Yes, but -”

“I promise to -”

“Don’t promise anything.” Theon cuts him off, frowning.

“What if we talked about it?”

“About what?”

“About what you said before… you know.”

“I don’t want to -”

“But maybe if -”

“No, I’m not going. End of story.” Robb bites back the words on his tongue and nods, looking down at his hands in defeat. Theon’s heart breaks a little at the sight, but he goes on. This is his decision. “I’ve tried to imagine it, but - I’m not ready for this, Robb.”

“There’s nothing to be ready for.” He replies sadly. “Yes, my mother might be a bit scary sometimes and I know everyone would interrogate us about “the capital of romance”, but it really isn’t all that bad.”

“I believe that. But I’m not ready to deal with that much attention.”

“Alright. I understand. Thanks for… telling me.”

“Of course.” Theon tentatively touches Robb’s hand. He doesn’t squeeze back, but doesn’t pull away either. “Did I ruin your day?”

Robb shakes head and as if only just realising what Theon yearns for, he entwines their fingers. “I’m just… I really wanted you to come.”

“I’m sorry.” When Robb doesn’t answer, Theon bites his lip and tries to break the awkward silence. “Can I ask why?”

“Why what? Why do we have these talks in front of churches? Fuck me if I know.” Swearing is so uncharacteristical of Robb’s usual speaking patterns that Theon almost proposes consolidating sex, despite his dubious feelings about it. Which is stupid as fuck, he doesn’t own Robb anything, let alone that. (He still feels so incredibly guilty. He should give Robb one hell of a Christmas present if he wants to make up for his refusal.)

“Why did you want me to come?”

Robb shrugs. “Because I want to celebrate with you.”

“You could do that here. No, I think there’s another reason.” At least he can offer this. So far their relationship wasn’t based on reciprocity, but Theon thinks he can turn that for the better now, if he starts talking about Robb’s problems too.

“What?” Robb raises his shoulders, confused.

“I think you want me to take the spotlight off you. So that you could breathe.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Robb laughs, but it’s a dull sound. “I mean, yeah, I’d have introduced you and there would have been questions, but -”

“But you said your mother might be scary and you still haven’t talked to your cousin and that they never leave you alone. And your father won’t be there to cut up the turkey. That you will be the man in the house without a clue about what that means.” Robb looks at him with wide, sad eyes and trembling lips. “I think you sometimes feel like you are... underwater.”

“Wha- you are putting words into my mouth. And what does that even mean? Being underwater?”

“Helplessness. Pressure.” Theon casts his gaze down. “Suffocation.”

Robb leans back and covers his eyes with his free hand. He looks shaken, now that their roles got reversed, and Theon comes to the realisation that Robb doesn’t just like to help him, he _needs_ it. To forget about himself, to shift the attention elsewhere. If he takes care of another, he can put aside dealing with his own issues and pretend there’s nothing wrong. And he’s a real talent at this type of hiding. But it’s plain as day now that Theon’s not the only one standing on wobbly ground. _Pauvre chéri,_ Theon thinks, how much is he keeping to himself?

“You… might be right about… some of that.” Robb says at last and looks at Theon with red-rimmed eyes, but no tears. “But I’m okay in general, so don’t worry.”

Except, he needs pills to sleep, Theon adds in thought, but holds his tongue. Robb looks at his wristwatch, a bit too fast for it to be genuine. “I’m sorry, I have to go - work.” He excuses himself.

Theon nods, not trying to stop him. He isn’t going to put even more pressure on him just to reveal the core of his problems. No, he’ll let him go. He’ll let him go.

Robb gives him a short kiss and stands up. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Theon watches him leave - in his dress coat and slacks, gloveless hands running through his hair, wanting, maybe, to turn back - then he stares up at the pigeons on the roof of the Sacré-Cœur. They look like grey raindrops on the cream white travertine, huddling together in one straight line of feathers. Theon shivers and admires the mist his exhale makes in the crispy air. It starts snowing.

  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas in Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's shorter, but hopefully still up to par.

 

A week goes by and the last Sunday before Christmas comes without much fanfare. Theon finds himself wishing time would go slower, just for a little while. He and Robb are going to exchange presents today and Theon will most likely spend the night, but... Robb’s plane leaves tomorrow midday from CDG and that’s just too damn soon. Although Theon isn’t far from asking him to stay, it would be incredibly pathetic and inconsiderate, so he discards the idea the moment it occurs. No, he will have to suck it up and maybe visit his sister for once. Yay.

“She’ll have a ball.” He mutters to himself as he stomps up the stairs to Robb’s apartment. There’s a heavy package in his arms that contains Robb’s present, a bottle of wine and some Christmas lights. It has been drizzling on and off for the last few days - nothing that resembles the ambience of a white Christmas - so Theon thought they should make do with turning the interior of Robb’s flat homey. As much as they can.

While ascending the stairs, he hears high-pitched feminime laughter and murmurs of what he identifies as Robb’s voice. Does he have someone over? _Today?_ Theon bloody well hopes it’s only Robb’s sister.

He reaches the floor of Robb’s apartment, sweating from the weight in his hands, and there they are. Robb is propped up against the doorjamb in a soft-looking sweater and blue jeans - Theon almost starts salivating at the sight - and he must have tried to comb his hair, because it looks somewhat straighter. It’s a little bit funny, but mostly just endearing. At least if he did that for _Theon,_ and not for that woman who’s standing in front of him. She isn’t his sister, that’s for sure. Her stylish coat is unbuttoned so that her clevage is on display and she wears unnecessarily high heels and a formal dress. She has full make up on and she is fucking _giggling_ at something totally not funny Robb has said, twirling her hair around a finger.

On the other hand, Robb’s body language is a testament to his cluelessness. It doesn’t indicate any sign whatsoever that he noticed how overtly she’s trying to flirt with him. _A goddamn illiterate when it comes to reading people_ _,_ Theon thinks and walks over with a dark expression. “Hello.”

“Oh.” She gasps and jumps back out of Robb’s personal space. “Hi! Theon, right?”

Theon hums an affirmation, going over to Robb, and leans into his side. Robb’s arm slides around him and he receives a peck in greeting. It helps him suppress his irritation in part, but it’s still simmering on the surface as he gives her a distrustful look. “And you are…?”

“Jeyne Westerling.” She smiles, casting a quick glance at Robb. “I’m working for Robb.”

“I see.” Theon says and doesn’t offer more questions, nor comments.

She hovers for a little more, looking awkward without a chance at small talk, then she turns to Robb and beams at him. “Well, it was nice meeting you two. Merry Christmas, Robb.”

“For you too, Jeyne. Time to catch up with your TV show, now that I won’t be here to nag you.” She blushes at Robb’s words. Her eyes seem to twinkle with excitement whenever Robb smiles at her and she compulsively licks her perfect red lips, as if saying _come on, taste me._ For God’s sake, when is she going to fuck off?

“I don’t mind you nagging me…” She mumbles and Theon’s face turns a shade darker. That woman totally has a crush on Robb! She’s plain and timid like a little mouse, but decked out like this she’s still prettier than Theon can ever be. And to top it off, she’s competent enough to be a close colleague of his, the epitome of a successful businesswoman. Overreacting or not, Theon succumbs to the green-eyed monster so fast he almost feels sick from it.

“Send me a notice if anything comes up.” Robb says, rubbing Theon’s back. He must have realised how bad off he is. Not cool - if even Robb noticed, it must be radiating from him like a neon glow.

Jeyne nods and steps forward, blushing again. “Sure thing, boss.”

Robb smiles, shaking his head, then leans in her direction to accept the kiss to his cheek. The only reason why Theon doesn’t growl is the hand Robb keeps on his back all the while.

“See you in the new year!” She exclaims at last and hurries down the stairs. Theon glares at her retreating form until Robb pulls him into the apartment.

“You were so rude.” Robb accuses and pokes him in the arm.

Theon shrugs, puts his box on the floor and gives him a petulant look. “She was flirting. And in case you haven’t yet realised, that girl has a massive crush on you.”

“She only dropped by to ask about one of our projects.”

“Yeah, and she couldn’t have asked over the phone, huh? Don’t pretend to be blind. She’s trying to lure you into her web.”

Robb tilts his head to the side. “Are you jealous?”

Theon averts his eyes and mutters. “Yes.” For some unknown reason, that answer makes Robb snicker. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Robb grins. “I just thought you were going to deny it.”

Refusing to reply, Theon shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the rack, then toes off his shoes. So what if he was jealous? It’s not like he’s top dating material. If he has a rival, any kind, then that rival has a chance. And damn, that Jeyne’s nice. Robb would be better off with her.

“What’s in the box?” Robb asks, trying to open it like a nosy schoolgirl. “Nothing.” Theon swats his hand away. “Christmas decorations.”

Robb’s face lights up in childish excitement and he darts in to give Theon a quick kiss. “Let’s put them on!” He exclaims. Theon watches him and thinks _okay,_ _maybe this won’t be all that bad in spite of the less than stellar start._

 

~¤~

 

Robb puts the remains of the small marzipan cake he baked for Theon on the coffee table. He’s pretty satisfied with how it turned out. Theon groaned when he first saw it, but then he kissed Robb like he meant it, deep and slow, and proceded to eat three slices. Now he’s sitting on the couch and eyeing the dessert with an almost pleading look. “She’s actually kind of furious.”

“Furious? Why?” Robb asks as he sits next to him, genuinely confused. Theon has been telling him about his friend’s, Dany’s labour. It was an emergency C-section, but as far as they know, everything went well. Robb can’t imagine a reason why someone would be furious after giving birth to three healthy little boys.

“She wanted to have Christmas babies.” Theon rolls his eyes. “She had the C-section scheduled for the 25th. But she wasn’t feeling well two days ago and uh, yeah, the boys wanted to come out.”

“I suppose the father’s very happy now.”

“He’s mostly just proud of himself. Three boys at once…”

“Do you like children?”

Theon shrugs and breakes a piece of marzipan off the cake. “Dunno. They are dirty, smelly and loud.”

He gives Robb half of the dessert in his hand. Robb smiles and takes it, then starts pulling Theon to the side until he rests his head on Robb’s shoulder. “But they are cute.”

“I bet you love them.”

“I do.”

Theon sighs and burrows closer. “Even if I loved them” He starts. “I’m incapable of taking care of them. I can barely hold myself up, it would be a disaster if one of my one-night stands showed up with a child.”

Robb blinks and frowns. “How probable is that?”

“Well, I did say risky sexual behavior.” Theon says quietly. “I had a few foolish nights back when I first got -” He bites back the end of that sentence. “Anyway, back when I thought I sould punish myself and the world I chose to do it in a pleasurable way. But don’t worry, I had myself tested, I’m clean. Thank God.”

A blush spreads across Robb’s cheeks. “That’s good to know.”

“What? That I might have a brat somewhere?” Theon snorts. “Didn’t you mean worrying?”

“Not that. The other thing.”

Theon leans back and stares at Robb for a moment, then gasps. “Oh.” He smiles and glances away. If he had Robb’s complexion, he would be blushing too. Robb rubs a hand over his thigh, but Theon jumps up to escape his touch. “Let’s move on and exchange gifts, okay?”

“Good idea.”

 

~¤~

 

To be frank, Robb may have gone a bit overboard with his presents.

“PSG tickets?” Theon gapes at him, leaning back against the arm of the couch with his legs in Robb’s lap. “For the Champions League? Christ, Robb, these’re way too expensive. And which sector -”

He gawkes at the piece of paper in his hands. “Did you honestly buy me a 250 € ticket?”

“Two.” Robb corrects. “You can take someone with you. Your sister or Pauline, for example...”

“As if I’d take anyone but you. My God, Robb.” Theon gives him a pointed look. “Now you have to accompany me. You don’t get out of this, no-no.”

He slides forward until he’s practically sitting on Robb’s thighs and hooks his arms behind Robb’s neck. “Thank you.”

Robb kisses him and reaches into his pocket to fish out the other part of his present. He puts it into Theon’s hand and curls his fingers around it. “So that you can come over anytime.”

Theon opens his fist, then stares at the small piece of metal on his palm. “Is this a key to your flat?”

“Yeah.”

“Robb, you are making me feel bad. My present isn’t this precious.”

“Don’t feel bad.” Robb kisses his forehead. “I’m not giving it to you without a price.”

“Oh really? And what’s the price?”

“Water the plants while I’m away.”

“You don’t have any plants!” Theon laughs and slaps his chest.

“Then it’s a cheap price to pay.”

Theon shakes his head, still laughing, and moves over to his box to pull Robb’s present out. “This really isn’t worth as much as your gifts, but I hope you’ll like it anyway.”

It’s a painting. Robb expects it to be the one he posed for, but as he unwraps it, he realises it’s a completely different setting. He’s sitting in a wicker chair with a cup of steaming coffee in front of him, his head tipped back. His eyes are closed as he basks in the sunshine that pours through the wall to ceiling window behind him. He’s in a white dress shirt and slacks - it’s almost like a snapshot from one of his mornings at the Loustic. It’s a great picture and as Robb stares at it, at the red-gold glint of his hair, at his expression, the calmness of it, he can understand for the first time how someone could see him beautiful. How Theon could see him beautiful.

“You do have sketches of me.” He says in a careful whisper and puts the painting on the coffee table.

“Of course I do.” Theon says softly, keeping his eyes on his own knees.

Does he really think his work is less meaningful than Robb’s gifts, just because it costs less money? It means much more, so much more to Robb. Theon has put effort, time and imagination into it, he opened up enough to give Robb a piece of how he sees the world. Not just… clicked on a button to buy the most expensive tickets on sale.

Robb sits closer to him and wraps his arms around his frame, squeezing. “I love it. Thank you.” He presses his lips to Theon’s jaw. “It’ll remind me of you.”

“You count that on the positive?” Theon chuckles and turns his head, bumping their noses together. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” Robb murmurs and leans in until there’s no gap between them.

 

~¤~

 

It’s past dusk and only Theon’s Christmas lights provide some light in the comfortable darkness. Theon can barely remember the last time he felt this content. He’s warm, safe and - maybe, probably - loved too. If he still had a God to believe in, he would have murmured a prayer in gratitude. As it is, he thinks the universe might be planning to give back what it has taken with Ramsay.

“Of course you have a gramophone. Of course.” He says when Robb suggests they listen to some quality Christmas music.

“It came-”

“Came with the flat, I know.” Theon waves him off and smirks.  “My lord.” He adds cheekily.

Surprisingly, Robb decides not to react to the teasing this time. He puts on a vinyl disk and offers Theon a hand as the first notes of a slow melody start. “Will you dance with me?”

Theon heaves a long-suffering sigh, but there’s a smile around the corners of his mouth. He takes Robb’s hand and rests an arm across his shoulders. They start swaying in a small circle. Theon stares up into Robb’s eyes and watches the gleam in them, the golden play of the Christmas lights, until he feels like he might sink into those oh-so-blue irises. He turns, then, in Robb’s arms until he’s embraced from behind, pulled flush against the plane of Robb’s chest. He swallows and closes his eyes.

“Thank you for doing this with me.”

Robb huffs against his nape. “Dancing?”

“No. The whole thing. Going out with me, despite everything.”

“It’s not a hardship.”

“Not an easy ride either.” Right then, the record shifts to Silent Night and that song seems to render both of them speechless. Robb presses his nose against Theon’s ear and just breathes, his palms moving under Theon’s shirt to stroke the tender skin there.

 _Silent Night_ __  
_Holy Night_ __  
_All is calm_ __  
_All is bright_ __  
_Round yon virgin_   
Mother and child

Robb’s hands are soft and strong, gentle in their caresses as they trace lines to Theon’s sides and back. The tip of his right index finger seems to draw letters over Theon’s skin, but he can’t make them out.

 _Sleep in heavenly peace_ _  
_ _Sleep in heavenly peace_

Robb hums along to the carol until the last words, softly, as if it was a lullaby, then kisses Theon’s cheek. He’s so calm and natural about it... and it dawns on Theon that he loves this, loves this domesticity more than he imagined he ever could. There’s nothing forced in it, nothing pretentious. He sighs. “I like that you hold me this way.”

“Is this a special hold?”

“Yes. But I don’t want to talk about it.” He smiles and touches Robb’s arms around his waist. “Right now you are replacing a bad memory with a pleasant one.”

Robb nods and kisses the back of his neck. He begins to mix up his stroking with light scratches that make Theon’s muscles ripple from the sensation. “If you keep that up, you’re going to turn me on.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

Theon shrugs, but pulls Robb’s hands away. Better be safe than sorry.

“We can do it the other way.” Robb says, sounding unsure, but desperate.

“The other way?”

“Well… I can bottom.”

Theon turns around and kisses him, then shakes his head, smiling. His whole problem is just partially related to the actual mechanics of sex. Yes, he doesn’t want to be taken advantage of, but that’s as far as it goes. Showing his body, on the other hand…

“When was the last time you did that? Bottoming.”

Robb gives him a sheepish look and rubs the back of his neck. “Never?”

“Never?”

Robb shrugs. “Never really got around to try it.”

“And you _would_ with me?”

“Yes. If you’d take me.”

 _“Chéri,_ that’s not even a question. You are amazing.”

“Is that a yes for tonight?”

“No. It’s a later.”

Robb, the darling, just nods (even though he must crave it so bad after all this time) and pulls Theon closer again. Theon rests his chin on his shoulder and starts moving to the music again. They are closer to rocking in place than dancing, but Theon has to blink wetness out of his eyes, it feels so good. The best out of all of his gifts. Robb exhales and hides his face in Theon’s neck and they sway back and forth, back and forth until the vinyl stops running, and even then some.

There’s a tiny tree in one corner of the living room with red glass ornaments hanging from its branches. It’s artificial, made of plastic - has no fallen needles, no scent. Had it been a real one, it’d need much more work. Setting it up, cleaning up after it, planting it in the garden or disposing of its dried out corpse when the holiday ends… Seems like much ado about nothing. But a real tree would have scent. It’d have its own order of branches, its own story, its own particular shade of green colour. It’d be unique and unrepeatable in its crooked, never quite perfect way. Theon wonders if it’s the same with people. If it’s true that people who need more attention, patience or persistence are worth the effort. If _he_ is worth the effort. He thinks about Robb’s steady heat against his body and hopes the answer is yes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to you all!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb goes home and makes a decision. Theon takes a big step.
> 
> WARNING: angst; stuff related to Ramsay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a sad part, sorry that we reached the new year with this, but our boys take very big steps here, so let's be happy for that. :)

 

After Robb gets off his plane at the JFK, he spends half an hour just sitting on a bench and trying to steady his breathing. He can’t seem to get enough air, he’s heaving, but there’s no relief, the imaginary rope around his neck tightens all the more. Allergic reaction? This must be that. He ate a piece of chocolate on the plane, he must have developed nut allergy last night. Is he going to die? His chest hurts with a sharp ache that seems to emanate from his heart. Heart attack? He digs his fingers into his thighs and curls forward over his knees, but it doesn’t help, this ice-cold fear that he’s going to die here doesn’t stop. His throat is tightening, closing up, there’s no air… Nobody helps, why don’t they? Please, someone...

“Oh God” Robb wheezes, clutching at his chest. He pulls his phone out and almost drops it, his hands are shaking so badly. “Come on.” He urges himself and speed dials the first person in the city he can think of.

 

_“Hey. Are you stuck in traffic?”_

“Jon.” Robb could cry in relief if he wasn’t so busy struggling to fill his lungs. “Can you... pick me... up?”

 _“Of course.”_ There’s a pause. _“Robb, are you hyperventilating? What’s wrong?”_

“Nothing... Nothing.” Robb closes his eyes. “Just... please come.”

_“I’m on my way. Hang on.”_

 

Hearing Jon’s voice has miraculous effects on his condition, whatever it is. It feels like turning off a tap, the terrible shaking wears off and a few minutes later he can take a normal breath again. God, this thing scared him. _It was nothing,_ he thinks, _just some weird sort of airsickness._ He lets out a relieved exhale and promptly breaks into tears, cries into his hands until everything quiets down inside.

By the time Jon arrives, he has put himself together in one of the bathrooms and has impeccable appearance again. Not counting a little redness around his eyes, but he can blame that on lack of sleep. It wouldn’t be that much of a lie either, because he can’t sleep naturally, however tired he is.

He smiles at his very worried cousin and gives him a hug as if nothing happened. Because nothing happened, right? Just a little airsickness.

Jon frowns at him suspiciously. “What was that? You sounded panicked on the phone.”

“Nothing, I’ve been running, is all.” Robb lies. No need to tell him the truth - he would just tell Mum and she would work herself up over it. No, she doesn’t need more to worry about.

“Running.” Jon deadpans. He doesn’t believe Robb at all, damnit. “Why?”

“Um… a guy dropped his wallet in front of me. I rushed to give it back.“

For a few seconds, Jon stares at him, trying to gauge whether he’s lying or not, then he sighs. “Alright. Let’s get a move on, then. Your mother can’t wait to have you home.”

Home. What a strange, intangible concept it is. When Robb steps into a house he hasn’t lived in since his high school graduation, can he call that home? Can he call his mother’s smile that when she seems to have lost the shine from her eyes? Even Rickon changed, lost the little boy look that in his eighteen years has been like a second skin to him. He is a freshman now, starting at Columbia, and Robb can’t believe it has been seven years since he went through the same thing. God. He’s twenty-five, truly an adult, and it’s funny, but this is the moment it really hits him. He’s been living abroad and leading a company for half a year now and _bam,_ life hits him on the threshold of his parents’ place a week before Boxing Day. He’s not sure if this is how growing up is supposed to go.

In the old house everyone’s cheerful, pretending to be happy around the elephant in the room. Robb didn’t expect weeping people all around the place, but it’s weird, dissonant that no one acknowledges the drastic changes to their lives. There’s a complete feast that has been waiting for his arrival. It’s all sorts of ridiculous, he would have been fine with a sandwich. His mother sits into his Dad’s seat and maybe that’s the last straw, or maybe it’s the way they all look at him like he was the prodigal son, but he breaks away from the family gaggle as soon as he gets a minute alone, and sneaks out into the backyard.

There’s a giant sourwood tree at the end of it and under that, an old swingset. Robb walks over to it and sits into one of the swings, ignoring the icy winter air for a moment of solitude. It’s dark out here, except for the warm white LEDs someone put on the sourwood. They look like little stars sitting on the branches, there to keep Robb company. He closes his eyes and leans his face against the steel chain the swing hangs on, welcomes the stinging cold line it presses into his forehead. He takes a deep breath.

It was his father who put this thing together back when Robb was a toddler with chubby cheeks and a gap-toothed smile. Robb wonders whether he knew just how many children he would make happy with it. Did he know that he would be called Dad by six little brats? He wonders whether his Dad thought about them when his car crashed into that tree by the road.

“Hey.”

Robb’s head whips up to find Sansa standing in front of him with a blanket over her shoulders. “Hey.” Robb tries for a smile, but it falls quite a bit flat.

She gives him one of her own anyway. “We can be a bit too much, huh?”

“Yeah.” Robb chuckles. “Mum has already diagnosed me with ten sorts of illness and malnutrition. She says ‘those frogs’ don’t know what good food is.”

Sansa laughs. “She’s going to force-feed you with turkey and muffins for the upcoming two weeks, get ready.”

“God, no, I already feel like a barrel from one dinner.”

“Sorry.” She smiles again, but it fades from her face as the silence stretches longer between them. “You really don’t look good, though.”

“Thanks.”

“Robb.” She sighs in exasperation and kicks a heap of snow in his direction. “You lost at least ten pounds since the last time I saw you.”

“I work out.”

“Yeah, sure.” Her voice drips sarcasm.

“I do.”

“You still look so pale and tired. Mum’s rightfully worried.”

“Sansa -”

“Just please take care of yourself.”

“Okay. I do, I promise.”

Sansa nods and walks closer to stand behind him. She puts her delicate hands on his shoulders and starts pushing until Robb’s swing moves. The familiar movement of it makes Robb’s heart clench. So many memories...

“Do you remember when we were little and I couldn’t swing by myself?”

“Yes.” Robb grins. “I pushed you.”

“You were barely any stronger than me back then.” Sansa lets out a laugh. “Once we did that on Uncle Benjen’s birthday and you slipped into the dust. You tore up your new white shirt and Mum was so angry, she chased you around shouting.”

“Oh no, don’t remind me of that.” Robb laughs. “I remember that Jon and I tried to clean it in the pool, but we just made our jeans wet. And you were crying those fake crocodile tears behind us.”

“They weren’t fake!”

Robb grins again. “Mum found us like that. I swear I got whiplash from the yelling.”

They laugh together at the fond memory, then it quiets down until only the old swing’s squeaking and the occasional dog bark break the silence. Robb looks up at the house, at its windows gleaming gold and bright.

“He’s not going to wake up, is he?”

“No.” Sansa whispers. “The doctors say Mum should… think about what’s next.”

Robb blinks and stares at the light coming from his parents’ window until it hurts. “Is she going to take him off life support?”

“I-I don’t know.” He hears a quiet sniff. “She’s been waiting for you.”

He nods and presses his lips hard together, tries to keep from crying. Waiting for him to decide. Alright.

Sansa drapes her blanket over his back and hugs him from behind. The swing stills. “I love you.” She says.

He leans his head back against her and lets a single teardrop fall. “I love you too.”

 

~¤~

 

The next morning, Robb goes into the hospital. He sits by his father’s bedside and spends hours listening to the machines work. There are flowers on the windowsill, some with ugly well-wishing cards, roses and a single sunflower, even though it’s winter.

It was an accident, officially, however convinced the family is otherwise. There was no lead to Joffrey and his associates and the police dropped it. The final report said something about a slippery road and one too few hours spent sleeping at night, but Robb could process no more of it. His mind’s stuck repeating the moment he received the call, that awful dread, and running through the rain to a dirty, yellow cab, thinking _no, no, no, no._

When the nurse kindly tells him he should go soon, he takes a deep breath and spills everything to his unresponsive father. How Jon is still resentful about the terrible things Robb said, though he tries to hide it. How it’s getting harder to keep everything together, despite the success. How it seems as though someone’s leaking information to Lannister interests. He tells him Walder Frey wants to pull out of his contract because Robb refuses to marry, he tells him he found someone who’s not Frey’s daughter.

“I love him, Dad.” He mouths, a lump in his throat. The machines beep back as if saying, _good for you, son._

Robb goes home and ends up saying no. Don’t switch them off. Don’t remove life support. Until there’s a thousandth of a percentage chance left, he’s going to do his best to give it to his father.

 

~¤~

 

On the afternoon of the 28th, after ten days of constant eating and playing board games and watching vintage movies, Robb is sprawled across his bed, on his stomach, feeling like a whale washed up on shore. There’s a laptop in front of him, Skype open. He's waiting. The clock on his old desk ticks away in lazy precision - it’s as though time decided to torture him some more, he didn’t get enough of that last week. He has his face buried in one of his old pullovers that’s fraying at the sleeves until at last he gets an incoming call. His head snaps up and he hits accept as soon as his fingers reach the keyboard.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Theon says in lieu of a greeting and moves the camera around. He’s in Robb’s apartment, sitting on his bed with a thick blanket around his body. He looks haggard and anxious, not quietly happy like he was at his sister’s. Robb is taken aback by the sudden change.

“Of course not, that’s why I gave you the key, but why -”

Theon bites into his lip and holds something up.

“What’s that?” Robb frowns at his screen. “A letter?”

“Three blank sheets of paper. Straight from Swaleside.”

“Swaleside?”

“It’s a prison in Kent.”

Robb’s face falls and he grinds his teeth together. “Ramsay.”

“Uh-huh. He’s been in Broadmoor - which is a mental hospital - but appatently he’s gotten better. Or they needed the place.”

“Christ.”

“I know. Nice Christmas card...” Theon sighs and rubs his forehead. “I have no idea how he found out where I live, but I don’t like it, Robb.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry.” Robb tries to reassure him in a calm voice, but in fact, he’s boiling from rage inside. That sick fucker is playing with him again. Why did they let him send anything? What kind of prison is that? “He still has years locked up, right?”

“About ten more.”

Robb coughs in surprise. He’s been hoping it was a life sentence. “Ten?”

Theon keeps his eyes averted, then squeezes them shut for a moment. “For, uh… for grievous bodily harm.”

Robb doesn’t know what to say to that. He watches in helpless silence as Theon runs a hand through his hair and crumples the sheets into a ball, then throws them into the trashbin next to the bedside table. Sorry seems empty and meaningless to tell someone who has been hurt so deeply, how could Robb make this better? Is there any way? For the first time it crosses his mind that he might not be enough. That he might just make things worse. Maybe he shouldn’t have started this thing between them, he should have been satisfied with that one night and let it go like everyone before, he should have… But it’s too late now, too late.

Theon glances up at him and a small, but genuine smile appears on his face. “It has just occured to me that I didn’t tell you how I got those scars on the soles of my feet.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, but I want to.” He takes a deep breath. “As most things, it started with Ramsay’s need to control, possess and manipulate. He’s a real master in that, you’ll see. So, uh… I told you that I used to dance, right?”

Robb nods. “Well, there was this small theater in Dover that I worked at beside the uni. We were rehearsing for a quasi-big production and Ramsay was the director.”

“Is that how you met?”

“Yeah.” Theon smiles, but it’s not a happy one. “He was very… dapper. The young, self-assured maestro whom everyone wanted to bed, but no one could. He didn’t find them interesting enough, he told me later. I wasn’t trying to have sex with him at first and maybe that was the thing that caught his eyes, or my fucked up family, I don’t know, but I was the prey he’s been searching for. He just needed an opportunity to single me out. Or he just wanted to play? It was never easy to guess with him.”

Theon takes a deep breath, then another one, staring at his hands. “There was a part in the show when I had to jump onto a pillar-like construction. Before our last rehearsal, he tinkered with it. At least, that’s what he told me a few years later. Anyway, I jumped and it collapsed under me during the rehearsal. The whole thing had been secured to the ground with two of these… screws or whatever they’re called. About this long.” He holds up his fingers in a little span. “Pierced straight through my feet, since we weren’t wearing shoes.”

Robb winces in sympathy. How can Theon talk about this like it was any other anecdote? It feels as though he’s purposefully trying to detach himself from it all.

Seeing Robb’s expression, Theon gives him a faint smile. “I went into shock so fast that I couldn’t feel much of it. But yeah, it looked pretty awful.”

“He has come to the hospital with me and held my hand in the ambulance... fed me lies until I…” He huffs in annoyance and swallows the end of that sentence. “He charmed me into an illusion. I didn’t have anyone else, you know, and someone had to take care of me until I could put weight on my feet again. So I put my trust in him. Like a fucking idiot. I should have known-”

“Theon, you couldn’t have known.” Robb’s heart breaks from the look he gets in reply.

“I should have, Robb. But I had no idea that it was him. It seemed like an accident. I didn’t know. I didn’t.” Theon looks up at the ceiling and sniffs. “I’ve never gone back to dancing, even though my feet are fully healed.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, pretends it didn’t mean anything to him. “I was confined to bed for a few weeks. He visited me every day, sometimes spent the night too, then spread rumours about me at the theatre. By the time I was well enough to go back, I had to face the fact that everyone thought I was sleeping with him. They hated me for it, those jealous bitches.”

Robb curls his fingers in a fist so thight that his knuckles go white, but he doesn’t comment, lets Theon choose what he wants to tell.

“Another week later I thought, why not? I have no friends left anyway. So I stopped dancing and let him fuck me, all the why thinking it was _me_ who coaxed him into it, and we started going out. And that’s when the real downhill began.”

Theon pauses for a moment. “That was his greatest trick, you know? He could make me think that I provoked him, that I caused it, everything he has done.”

“You didn’t, darling.” Robb says softly and presses his fingers to the screen of his laptop. “You didn’t.”

Theon goes on as if he didn’t even hear what Robb said. “Maybe I really did. I don’t know. But I know he didn’t deserve to do it.”

“I’ll tell you what that scum deserves, to rot in hell for eternity.”

Theon lets out a short laugh that sounds like relief and a bit of amusement. “I don’t know why, but… It feels easier to tell you things now, with thousands of kilometres between us.”

“I can’t say it’s easier to listen.”

Theon sobers up immediately. “I know. I’m sorry, Robb.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong. I just wish I was there with you.”

Theon runs a hand over his face. “I had a session with that woman you found me.”

“Really?” Robb smiles. He didn't think Theon would go. “How was it?”

“Not too bad.”

“That’s good. I hope it’s going to work.”

“Me too.” Theon sighs once more, then looks straight into the camera. “Alright, I have to go. Tomorrow, same time, okay?”

“No, wait - ah, damnit.” He fled again.

 

~¤~

 

New Year’s Eve finds Robb leaning against the building next to Loustic. It’s closing time and Theon’s locking up - he’s trying to, anyway. There’s a giant piece of canvas in his arms, a painting he wants to take home, maybe, and he seems reluctant to put it on the ground, but it’s impossible to get the key into the lock like that. Robb kicks himself away from wall and steps towards him.

“Need help with that?”

“Shit!” Theon jumps a foot into the air and holds up his painting like a shield, peeking over it’s frame. “Robb? Jesus Christ, you scared me.”

“Sorry.” Robb stifles a smile. “I thought you were ignoring me.”

“Why would I ignore you? Fuck, I didn’t even notice you there. I thought you were staying in New York until the 3rd. When did you get back?”

Robb glances at his wristwatch. “Four hours ago. I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did…” Theon laughs and scuffs his shoes on the ground. “Now what?”

“Now I’ll kiss you silly.” Robb replies and does just that. He puts a hand on the back of Theon’s neck and dives in like a half-starved man who goes for his first bite. Two weeks can be a long time, indeed. “Hm, chocolate muffin?”

Theon whacks him on the shoulder. “Shut up. You eat that stuff all the fucking time. I wanted to try it.”

 _I missed you,_ is what Robb hears. He smiles and takes the keys from Theon’s hands to lock up the café himself. “What’s that?” He gestures at the painting.

“Nothing. Just something I wanted to take home tonight.”

“Wanted?”

“Well…” Theon clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. “Since you are back I guess we should… celebrate together? If you don’t have anything else to do.”

“I would celebrate with you even if I had a million other things to do.”

Theon gives him a tentative smile and steps closer. “Shall we go to your place then?”

Robb shrugs, even though his heart is hammering wildly in his chest. Is he going to let him in if Robb suggests it? “We can go to yours this time.”

Theon hums and tugs on the lapel of Robb’s dress coat. “Okay.” He whispers, staring up into Robb’s eyes. “But I warn you, it’s tiny.”

“I don’t mind.”

“My bed is only a double.”

“Then we’ll have to sleep very, very close.” Robb barely holds back his grin of triumph. Theon’s letting him in, finally, he’s letting him in...

 

~¤~

 

It really is a tiny flat. It has one bedroom, but Theon uses it as a studio and he has his bed in the main room instead, with a thick curtain used as partition. There’s a brown, loveseat-sized couch in front of an old television set and a second-hand coffee table. Robb sits there and fiddles with the smashed wecker he has found until Theon puts away his painting and takes a quick shower. He can’t believe that Theon let him up. In the past months he has been so adamant to keep Robb away from this place and now… Robb feels newfound anticipation surging through his body. His patience payed off, it has broken the ice.

“Don’t mind that clock, I hated it anyway.” He hears from the vicinity of the bathroom and looks up. Theon’s standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, damp hair falling into his eyes. He didn’t get dressed, there’s only a bathrobe over his body, and he’s standing very stiffly. He’s giving Robb unsure, vulnerable looks. Is it possible that he wants to…?

“I figured w-we should get this over with too.” He closes his eyes. “If you’d like to see it, that is.”

Oh God. He does want to. Robb gulps and walks over to him, envelopes him in a hug. “I’d like to see _you.”_

Theon lets out a shaky laugh. With the hand he has on his neck, Robb can feel how fast his heartbeat is, how scared he is. “It’s much easier with one-night stands, you know. They don’t care enough to ask questions. And I don’t care about them either.”

 _But I care about you,_ it remains unsaid. Robb steps back and guides them to the bed, pulls the curtain closed so that it feels like a little room of acceptance just for themselves. He takes Theon’s hands in his. “I won’t ask either, if you don’t want me to.”

Theon stares at him in contemplation for a moment. “I don’t want you to.”

“Alright.” Robb smiles. “No questions.”

Theon’s hands tremble in his and he looks so small, without any of the cocky confidence he radiated when they first met. It feels like Robb has gotten to his core and this is the final test to gain his trust. He gives Robb one last scrutinising look, then reaches up and shrugs off his robe.

For a few seconds Robb doesn’t dare look away from his face. The thought that he might not be able to deal with the evidence of Ramsay’s cruelty makes him scared. He wants to react well enough, he wants to be good.

“You can look.” Theon gives him the barest hint of a smile and runs his fingertips along Robb’s forearms the way he does when he wants reassurance, but is too insecure to ask for it. Robb wets his lips and looks down.

Funny, but the first thought that occurs to him is that Theon isn’t entirely naked. He has a pair of boxers on, of course, and the surprise of seeing them, his own ridiculousness makes the actual issue a little less hard to take in for Robb.

Over the plane of Theon’s chest, there are thin white and red lines criss-crossing in no particular arrangement. They aren’t raised, can’t be felt under a hand, but in light they are obvious. Some of them look old, others less - they must have been inflicted over years. Every now and then, there’s a distinguishable shape, a tick or a small circle of cigatette burns for example. The pattern goes on to his thighs, but there are less marks on them. By far the worst are the notches on his arms, though. They must have been deep cuts, they are easily noticeable. Robb can’t help, but reach out and stroke over them, wishing his touch could make them disappear. The pad of his right thumb runs over something different and he pauses, lifts Theon’s arm to see what’s there.

“My doctor said that’s going to fade.” Theon murmurs, ashamed. “If not, I’ll have plastic surgery, but that thing can’t stay.”

Robb gives him a worried look. None of his other scars seem to bother him as much as this one. “Is that his initial? R for Ramsay?”

Theon lets out a dark laugh. _“My_ initial.” His gaze flickers up to Robb’s face, but skitters away as if burned. “He… he used to call me R-Reek.”

Robb feels bile rising in his throat. “What?”

“No questions.”

“Sorry.” Is this not enough for a life sentence? Robb has to gather every ounce of his self-control not to swear vendetta against that psychopath.

“My back too.” Theon whispers, almost inaudibly. He keeps his eyes on the floor and his hands are fisted next to his sides, but he seems to be shaking less and less with every passing minute. Robb circles around him.

“Like a fucking Jackson Pollock.” Theon mutters as soon as Robb’s standing behind him.

His back looks the same as his chest, a testament to pain Robb can hardly imagine. How strong he had to be to endure this and how blind the others that they didn’t see when this happened. How couldn’t they notice? Where was the help? Robb blows out an exhale through his nose and leans forward until his lips are pressed to the knob of Theon’s spine. _Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry, Robb Stark._

“Are you repulsed?”

“No.” Robb sighs and slips his arms around Theon’s abdomen. “I’m incredibly sad.”

“Don’t be.” Theon replies. His voice sounds wet, but lighter. Almost free. “It’s over.”

His hands find Robb’s again and their fingers tangle together as Robb nods against the back of his neck. “It’s over.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Pollock painting: https://www.guggenheim.org/artwork/3482
> 
> I wish you all a happy new year! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon takes another step, Robb has a rollercoaster-night and something scary happens that forces their roles to switch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We pick up right where we left the story. Have fun reading!

 

“It’s over.” Robb repeats and Theon feels him nod.

He doesn’t know how Robb keeps his questions to himself, but he’s pretty grateful he does. Some of those damn scars has their own humiliating story that would just strengthen the impression that Theon is a weakling destined to die. Thank God Robb lets him keep these for himself. Theon can compare his reaction only to Yara’s, though she had seen far worse than a bunch of fading lines and wrinkled skin. She was his savior, even if she didn’t look like that at the time when she broke into his room in Dover. She dragged him out of that house - not kicking and screaming, because he didn’t have the strength, but not cooperating either. He was bleeding from at least five places and still crying for Ramsay, his mind was so far gone. And she didn’t say a word, just set her jaw and took him away. What would Robb have done in her place?

“Are you really not disgusted?” Theon asks again, because he desperately wants Robb to be okay with this. Yeah, he did see and feel some of it before, but facing the whole picture is different.  

“No, I’m not.” Robb assures him and kisses his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Just overwhelmed.” Theon laughs and wipes the moisture from his eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me, but… it feels so good that I thought right.” He extricates himself from the embrace and turns, puts his hands on Robb’s chest. “Thank you.”

He leans in to kiss him, because he can’t not anymore after this wonderful reaction, but Robb pulls away almost as soon as their lips touch. Theon frowns at him, confused and a little hurt. Has Robb lied about how he feels? He starts to drop his hands too, but Robb captures them in his and keeps them pressed to his torso.

“I have to ask one thing.” He states firmly, eyes gleaming with something akin to worry. “Just one. Can I?”

Theon drums his thumbs against Robb’s sternum in idle contemplation. Which one is he going to ask? The _why didn’t you leave_ or the _why did he do it?_ Neither has an answer that explains the disaster that relationship was. “Okay.” He allows tentatively.

“Has he ever...” Robb starts, then pauses, searching for the right words. “...touched you without consent?”

Theon flexes his fingers between Robb’s. “Sexually?”

“Yes.”

“No. That wasn’t his thing.” Thank heavens for small mercies.

Robb sighs what might have been the biggest sigh of his life and smiles in relief. The straight frown line between his eyebrows disappears as if it has never existed. Theon gives him a curious look. “You thought I kept refusing sex because he forced himself on me?”

“I started to think so, yeah.”

Sadly, he can’t say it was a far-fetched idea. Ramsay didn’t rape him, true, but he did cheat on him more than once and some of those might have been forced, who knows? Let’s pray none of them was.

“Well, he didn’t. I just didn’t want you to see these properly -” Theon gestures down at himself. “- until I was sure you would stay around.”

“I’m glad you trust me now.” Robb smiles again and this time it’s him who leans in and gets stopped. His expression morphs into pure bafflement and his supple bottom lip quivers into a pout.

Theon forces himself to show some self-control and doesn’t bite that mouth, just gives Robb a lopsided smirk. “Can you please switch off the lights?”

Robb raises an eyebrow in question and takes two steps back, then does as he has been told. Through a gap between the drawn curtains the city’s light streams into the room in one orange ray and hits his face. It makes his blue eyes the only coloured thing in an otherwise dull and grey world.

“Come here.” Theon murmurs and extends his arms. When the soft sounds of Robb’s footfalls come close enough again, he reaches out and finds his hips, slips his thumbs under Robb’s shirt and presses into his bare skin.

“You know, it was Brienne, my new therapist who talked me into this. I would have postponed the whole thing without her advice.”

Robb’s hands glide over his arms again, up to the sides of his neck. “I’ll send her a gift basket.”

“She also said that if I feel like it _after…_ we should… have sex, maybe.” He whispers and leans in for a kiss.

Robb moans into his mouth in reply and cards his fingers through Theon’s damp hair. “Please tell me you feel like it.”

“You can find out just how much for yourself.”

 

~¤~

 

By the time midnight comes and the city turns into one gigantic firework, Theon is heaving flat on his back, sweaty and flushed from satisfaction.

“Happy New Year!” Robb exclaims, throws himself over his chest and kisses Theon like they haven’t just finished two rounds of mind-blowing sex.

“How do you even have the energy?” Theon pants and tries to gather enough jedi force to get them a drink. It’s not going too well, but it’s still more promising than trying to stand up after what they’ve been up to.

“I’m happy.” Robb murmurs and snuggles into his side. Theon’s glad they decided to stay in bed instead of going out to the parade - had they been in a crowd, they would have had to keep their displays of affection to the minimum. And missing this overjoyed side of Robb would have been a crying shame. “Shall I bring in the champagne?”

Huh, the jedi force did work, in a way. “Sure, if you can get up.”

Robb all but springs out of bed, puts on Theon’s robe and goes into the tiny kitchen where they’ve had a snack about two hours before. In the meantime, Theon struggles himself into a half-sitting position and puts on his underwear in case Robb needs some help. He’s gone for quite a while and Theon has just begun to think he managed to get lost when he comes back, looking unimpressed.

“Kid champagne? Really?”

“What? I like it.” The truth is, Theon has drunk the real, alcoholic champagne the previous night in a fit of loneliness and he wanted to avoid getting smashed two days in a row, that’s why the kid stuff. He didn’t know Robb would come back for _Saint-Sylvestre!_

Robb smiles, shakes his head and pours two glasses of the sparkling apple juice. He sits on the mattress and hands one to Theon, clinking his own to it. “Happy New Year again.”

_“Bonne année.”_

They drink in companionable silence and listen to the sound of cheering that filters through the thin wall. A guy shouts a wellwish for his father and for a fraction of a second, Theon thinks about sending a text to his. Maybe he would send one back, for once? Then he almost laughs at himself, because that would be the joke of the century. He waves away the thought, annoyed, and chooses to focus on Robb instead. He is so damn happy - Theon has been an idiot for denying him this level of intimacy. It must have killed him to be rebuffed every single time. And yet he remained patient like a saint… Theon has a lot to make up for.

He puts his champagne on the bedside table and slides a hand under Robb’s bathrobe, up from his knee to his upper thigh. Robb is deliciously naked under the flannel and his skin is warm and soft to the touch, enticing. And he’s sipping his drink too damn slowly.

“Come back here.” Theon pulls back his hand, lies down and pats the bed next to him.

Robb sends him a playful look and sets his glass aside. “So impatient.”

“That I am.” Theon admits with ease and tugs on Robb’s arm. “I want to sleep.” Well, not really, he wants to _cuddle,_ but it will be a cold day in hell when he admits that.

Fortunately, Robb has no such qualms. He plasters himself over Theon like a sticker, bathrobe and all, and acts like he wants to merge with him. “What are your new year’s resolutions?” He asks against Theon’s cheek.

“I don’t have any.” Theon replies. The back of his knee itches, but he can’t bring himself to move and scratch it, it’s just too much work.

“Think of something.” Thinking is quite challenging too.

“What are yours?”

“First, I’m going to start running regularly.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. There are some nice parks here…”

 _What a well thought-out plan,_ Theon’s inner voice laughs. Does Robb think he has put on weight? If that’s the case, he should look into a mirror and see how damn gorgeous he is. “Go to the Buttes-Chaumont. That’s my favourite.”

“I’ll check it out.” Robb snuggles even closer, like a thick, breathing blanket. “Second, I’m going to stop taking those sleeping pills. Starting tonight.”

“I don’t think it’s wise to just stop all of a sudden. Why not begin with a lower dosage?”

Robb huffs. “I’m fed up with them. They make me sleepy half of the day and I don’t have dreams anymore. Not to mention, they could kill me anytime.”

“One pill a day won’t kill you. And didn’t you say you used to have nightmares all the time?”

“Yeah, but I think I’m going to be well enough now.”

“Alright. Your sleep.” Theon shrugs. Robb is going to see it for himself, stopping altogether won’t solve anything.

“You really don’t have any resolutions?”

“I want to get rid of this.” Theon indicates the R on his arm. That might count as a resolution. “I don’t know about these, though, I read there are creams…” Though he doubts they can make his knife cuts fade away. It would be a miracle if that happened. “Are they truly not obvious?”

“No, I can hardly see any of them with the lights off.” Robb answers and runs a hand along his arm, tracing the ridges of his notches. He seems to have an inclination to repeat this move often, as if he could make those scars disappear. Or maybe he wants to claim Theon’s body for himself and those marks remind him that someone already has. “I can feel these, though.”

“Yeah, you did the first time as well.” Theon sighs. “Childhood accident, huh… You didn’t buy that, did you?”

“I didn’t.”

They fall into a short silence until Theon clears his throat. “Brienne wants to talk with you too.”

“Oh. Okay.” Robb agrees immediately. “Why?”

“She says a relationship is always an important part of a person’s life and if we really want to make progress, we should include my partner as well.”

“Alright. I’ll do all I can to help.”

“Thank you.”

Robb starts fiddling with Theon’s fingers, bending them this way and that, as much as they can move. “I have news too.”

Theon hums and grips Robb’s hand to still it. “Good or bad?”

“Neither? I don’t know. It’s just weird.” His fingers keep on wriggling in Theon’s hold - is he unnerved by something? “My Mum wants me to get married.”

Theon can’t hold back a snort. “She wouldn’t if she saw me.”

“Not you.” Oh. Who the hell then? That Jeyne, the little mouse? “The daughter of one of our business partners.”

Theon rolls Robb over and straddles his thighs, feigns nonchalance. “I hope you’ll keep me as your misterious foreign lover.”

Robb gives him an annoyed look. “Don’t be an idiot, I won’t marry her.”

“Why not?” Theon smirks. He knows he’s pushing it, but he’s insecure and wants to test just how stable Robb’s decision is.

“Do you think we are in the Middle Ages?” Robb growls at him. “I’m not in a war looking for an ally, neither am I in need of money. There isn’t a contract forcing me or anything.”

“She must be pretty and smart if your mother wants her for you.”

Robb makes a helpless gesture. “I don’t care what she wants, I just wanted to tell you how ridiculous the idea is. I don’t want her, so I won’t take her.”

“I’m just saying that she might be a better alternative than - this.”

“God, Theon.” Robb sits up and grabs Theon’s face with his hands, just hard enough to give away his irritation. “You drive me crazy, do you know that?”

Theon practically knocks him out with the kiss he plants on his lips and they fall back onto the mattress. They grab and bite at each other until Theon realises it’s not the knot on the bathrobe that’s digging into his bottom. He smiles and grinds down to tease. Robb grunts and kisses him deeper, his hips moving on their own accord. Now that his poor, constricted libido has been set free, it’s insatiable, it seems.

“Again?” Theon questions rhetorically. “I have to be able to walk tomorrow, just so you know.”

Robb hums an affirmative and massages Theon’s flank. “You can stay in bed. I’ll bring you food.”

“I have a sitting scheduled for the afternoon.”

“Call it off.”

Theon laughs. “And you’ll keep me in your lair all day? Ravish me whenever you feel like it?” There’s an edge to his voice that he can’t keep entirely inside. Robb must have noticed, because he stops rolling his hips and squeezes Theon’s knees.

“Only if you want it too.”

Theon pauses. That’s the thing, he _wants it._ It has been quite a while for him too because he didn’t have the heart to cheat on Robb with a one-night stand and really, would it be so bad to call that sitting off? He could spend the first day of the new year just like this, how nice that would be… Yes, that painting could wait, right? It surely could. Theon lets the thought of tomorrow go and raises his hips, starts wriggling out of his underwear while pretending to be exasperated. “Why did I put this back on in the first place…”

Robb grins and reaches for the lube. “I have no idea either.”

 

~¤~

 

It’s half past three when Theon wakes up from his well-needed sleep in alarm. He glances around with bleary eyes and finds Robb hunched over his knees at the farthest edge of the bed. _Not taking his nightly pill has been a good idea, indeed,_ Theon thinks with quite a bit of sarcasm and is halfway back to sleep when he realises that Robb’s breathing is nothing close to normal. It sounds as though he has just run a marathon and did a freedive. Theon sits up with apprehension and crawls closer to get a look at his face.

“Robb? What’s wrong?”

But Robb doesn’t answer. He’s clutching at his chest as if it physically hurts him to breathe and he’s gone so pale it gives him an eerie glow in the light that filters in through the window. He’s shaking and there’s something inherently defensive in the way he tries to curl in on himself.

 _“Merde_ ” Theon curses and jumps out of bed to rush over to Robb’s side. He puts a gentle hand on Robb’s shoulder, trying to break through the fog of fear that must be clouding his mind right now. “Robb, look at me. It’s alright, you are safe here.”

Robb doesn’t look, but squeezes his eyes shut instead and lets out a noise that’s pure terror. Theon jerks his hand back before he causes him even more distress and bites his lip. He knows what’s happening. “This is a panic attack. There’s no real danger. You are safe here.”

Robb keeps on hyperventillating and he must not be through the peak because his shaking gets worse and worse. Theon’s searching for any morsel of an idea in his mind that could provide help, but he comes up with nothing. “Just a panic attack, Robb, there’s no danger, there’s - Shit!”

Abruptly, Robb’s body lurches forward and he throws up into the trashbin he must have put in front of himself at the beginning. He starts to cry, still clutching at his own chest with a death-grip.

“Dying” He croaks out and throws up again a moment later. If he can speak he must be through the worst of it, right?

“No, no, you aren’t dying. Just breathe with me, okay? In - out.”

“Can’t” Robb gasps, his hands shaking so badly that it resembles a seizure.

“You can do it. With me, in - out - in - out. That’s it. In - out.”

Robb’s breathing isn’t much better, but every now and then he gets the rhythm right for a short while. This process goes on for minutes until Theon doesn’t know who he’s trying to reassure anymore. “It’s going to pass soon, don’t worry, it’s going to pass.”

“Theon” Robb whimpers and Theon dares taking his hand.

“I’m here, right here.”

The shaking stills for a second, then Robb starts crying in earnest, heaves big, gasping sobs that seem to come from so deep that he’s rendered immobile by their force. He cries with such a volume that Theon has to get up and run for a towel, rather than trying to clean the mess with tissues. He puts the cloth into Robb’s hands and raises them to his face so that he can let it out into that. He sits on the bed and Robb sags against him like a puppet cut from its strings, boneless. Theon wraps his arms around his trembling form and starts rocking back and forth to soothe him.

 _“Shh. Chéri, c’est okay. Tu es en sécurité.”_ [Darling, it’s okay. You are safe.]

Theon hasn’t seen a panic attack before, but he’s been on the suffering end of it for a few times when his mind caught up with the things it missed out on during his last months with Ramsay. He knows how it feels to have that debilitating fear running through your body, how it clenches around your heart and freezes your lungs. It's still a shock to witness someone he cares about going through that. He whispers to Robb and caresses his back until the last aftershocks fade out, then strokes the sweaty curls back from his forehead.

“Has this happened before?” He asks gently.

“Once.” Robb hiccups. “This felt worse. Far worse. I didn’t know it was a panic attack.”

Theon combs through his hair. “What were you afraid of?”

“...Dying.”

“Dying how?”

“By suffocation, I think.”

He kneels down at Robb’s feet and pries away the towel from his face. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy, but he doesn’t look scared anymore, just tired. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“Panic attacks don’t happen because there’s nothing wrong. There’s something that upsets you.”

“I don’t know.” Theon has an inkling he knows exactly, just refuses to acknowledge it.

“It’s just stress. And I might be coming down with something.”

“Alright. Do you want some water?”

Robb nods, so Theon goes out to the kitchen. He has to spend a few seconds collecting himself, though, before actually grabbing a glass. This was a bad one, he’s sure about that and he’s sure that Robb has secrets that are eating at him. Stress is a big factor, but he feels like Robb isn’t entirely honest. And it must have something to do with his father’s coma, because he’s incredibly tight-lipped about that.

When Theon gets back to his bed, he finds Robb fast asleep in a fetal position. He must have been exhausted by the attack and dozed off as soon as his head hit the pillow. Theon sighs and puts the water on the bedside table, then pulls the blanket over Robb’s bare torso, but doesn’t get back next to him. He sits in his only armchair and watches the rise and fall of Robb’s chest until the sun comes up.

 

~¤~

 

In the morning, they putter around the kitchen in tense silence. Robb looks like shit and Theon suspects he can’t be much better off. He makes waffles to cheer them up and reads random parts of the _Le Monde_ aloud until Robb is smiling again.

“Want to talk about last night?” Theon asks after washing the dishes, and leans back against the kitchen counter.

“About this?” Robb crowds him in and squeezes his bottom. “We can talk about it all you like.”

“Be serious now. Do you want to?”

“No.” Robb says softly and kisses his cheek. “Thank you.”

He leans into Theon like a lazy cat that curls against its owner’s leg, warm and content. Theon doesn’t feel trapped under the pressure of his weight, even though Robb’s arms slide over the counter top to bracket him in fully. It’s oddly calming. Safe. Feels as though… as though the way Robb melts into him could right everything that’s wrong with Theon’s world for a moment. He feels like a whole person, a worthy person, right now. And it makes his heart speed up with something other than fear. He sighs and closes his eyes. _“Mon chéri.”_ [My darling]

Robb kisses him in turn. His kisses are short pecks of sweetness on Theon’s lips, trailing from corner to corner until Theon smiles and cradles his cheeks to deepen their liplock. He has never been big on using endearments, but he has to admit it’s worth it, if this is the result.

“I’ve called off the sitting.”

Robb smiles and drops his forehead to Theon’s shoulder, breathes in his scent, the smell of his neck. Theon cups the back of his head and he’s just about to nudge him into another kiss, when something catches his eye on the table. It’s the post he has brought up yesterday, but didn’t bother to check yet. Lots of junk, some bills, the _Le Monde_ \- and then there’s an address he sees that makes him go rigid with mixed feelings of unease and anger: Swaleside.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Ramsay's second letter, Robb's talk with Brienne and a relaxing evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments and kudos so far. We are about halfway through the story in chapters. :)

 

The new year is off to a great start, Theon thinks, sitting dejectedly at his table. He closes his eyes and rubs his temples as Robb stomps back and forth along the short length of the kitchen. He’s fuming and growling like a wolf whose territory has been trespassed by a particularly annoying creature he wants to rip into pieces. It’d be funny, if Theon wasn’t feeling like shit.

“How the fuck does he know where to send it?!” Oh yeah, and he yells at Theon every other minute. As if that could help anyone. “Can’t believe it… I’m going to sue that place… We have to write a complaint…”

So much for spending the day going at it like bunnies. Theon sighs and drops his hands to give Robb a tired look. “Nobody writes anything.”

“Do you think we should just let it go?” Robb looks at him with all the protective rage of a mother bear. “No, this has to stop.”

“If you write a complaint, Ramsay will know about it and he will be _a hundred percent sure_ that I live here.”

“He knows that already! We have to act now, before he can give us any more -”

“He might send this same stuff to every Theon Greyjoy he got information about.”

“Or not. What matters is that he sends you these, which means he is harassing us, so we have to react consequently, before -”

“Would you stop it already?” Theon snaps and slams his hands down on the table.

Robb furrows his brows, a vein popping out on his forehead. “What’s your problem, I’m just trying to think of something to help!”

“I don’t need you to always think of something, I need you to be there for me and that’s all!” Theon yells back and stands up, gesturing wildly. “Stop telling me how to deal with this psychopath, stop working yourself up and stop saying _we!”_

“What’s wrong with we?” Of course that’s what he would pick up on from the entire outburst. Theon knows he’s going to regret this later, but he can’t stop his traitorous mouth, it’s pouring venom without his permission.

“There’s no we! Only you and I, _Robb_ and _Theon,_ not Robb-and-Theon. We aren’t one fucking item. And this problem only concers you through me. Don’t think I can only make decisions with your help.”

The air freezes around them. Robb stares at him in shock, with a touch of hurt flickering in his eyes, then he scowls. “Okay.”

He nods, knocks his knuckles on the table as a gesture of finality and turns to go into the hallway. “Okay, I understand.”

Theon stalks after him and glares while Robb’s putting on his coat. “Where the hell are you going?”

“I’m granting your wish.” Robb grunts and puts on his scarf far more violently than it warrants. Theon’s blood boils.

“Put your stupid clothes back! We aren’t done!”

Robb about tears off his shoelaces in rage, but his voice is cool and hard when he speaks. “But we are. It truly is your problem, not ours and not mine, so I won’t bother you until you work things out.”

Theon pinches the bridge of his nose and counts to ten. “Don’t be like that, it’s -” But Robb doesn’t wait it out, he jumps up and rushes out the door, slamming it behind himself.

“Fucking hell.” Screw him, him and his goddamn precious soul. You can’t even argue properly with someone like that.

 

In the end, “screwing him” comes down to this: Theon fidgeting on Robb’s doormat at ten pm with half a bottle of wine in him for courage, ready to beg and slither on the ground for forgiveness. The door creaks open and Robb’s pale, exhausted face pokes through the gap.

“Hey.” Theon says and waves like an awkward teen. Look what Robb is doing to him, for God’s sake.

“Hey.” Robb opens his door wider. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to apologize. My emotions got over me. And - and I have to admit I was scared. I _am_ scared, which makes me act like a jerk. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well…” Robb lilts to the side, but catches himself with a hand on the doorjamb. What’s wrong with him? Is he drunk? “I don’t have the strength for this right now.”

“Please, I’m apologising.”

“That’s, ah, nice of you.”

 _“Je suis désolé.”_ [I’m sorry.] Theon tries, wringing his hands. He knows Robb likes it when he talks in French. _“S’il te plaît, Robb.”_ [Please.]

Robb sighs and sags against the cupboard beside him. “I accept… Of course I accept. And I’m sorry too for… for freaking out the way… the way I did. It was uncalled for.”

“No, no. I understand. It’s okay.” Robb keeps his head bowed and leant against the wooden surface, eyes falling shut. Theon puts a hand on his elbow. “Robb? Are you sick?”

“‘M not sick.” One of his eyes cracks open. “Have already taken my pill.”

“Oh.” Theon laughs. He must be on the verge of falling over, then. “What about your resolution?”

“Put it off.” Robb huffs, straightens himself and reaches out to grip Theon’s shoulder. “Shit, I might… fall asleep standing… I hate this.”

Theon smiles to himself and steps in fully, the door swinging shut behind him. “I can’t say I do. You are cute.”

“Hm, no.”

He toes off his shoes, then hooks an arm around Robb’s waist and starts stirring him towards the main bedroom. “You _are._ Now let’s go to bed.”

“‘Kay. Left side is mine.”

“Should I stay then?”

“‘Course.”

 

~¤~

 

Robb wakes up pressed against a warm body that smells like sage and seasalt. He shudders, because _someone_ has stolen his blanket, only to throw it to the ground on the other side. He grumbles and bends over Theon to retrieve it, but gets caught by strong arms in the process. He chuckles and twists in the hold to prop himself up on Theon’s chest. “Good morning.” His voice rumbles from sleep. Theon just grunts and keeps napping without any sign of an intent to get up.

Robb swallows back the ‘we’ from the tip of his tongue with a hint of bitterness and says, instead: “You should get up, it’s almost eight. You have an appointment with Brienne, if I’m not mistaken.”

Theon’s eyes open to a squint. “You remembered.”

“Of course.”

“But I told you only last night, not long before you passed out.”

“Stilnox doesn’t give me amnesia.” Robb laughs at the ridiculous idea. Theon gives him a strange look at that, one that he can’t really place, but would desperately like to, because a moment later the expression flickers into realisation, then annoyance. He is just about to ask what he’s thinking of, but Theon beats him to it.

“How are you?” He clears all traces of irritation off his face and runs a hand through Robb’s hair, petting.

“I’m fine. Just damn sleepy again.” Robb replies and tilts his head into the touch. “How are _you?”_

“I’m fine.” Theon repeats and smirks, mocking, but then he looks out the window and his face falls. It’s gloomy outside, winter-dark and grey. There might be a sprinkle of rain falling and when the neighbouring church’s bells ring, a flock of crows take off flying. “No, I’m not actually. I don’t think this will be a good day.”

Robb snuggles closer to him and kisses the center of his chest to make him smile.

“Tell me something that will brighten me up.” Theon requests and Robb muses for a moment, then says “Jon is going to come visit me next month.”

“Your cousin? How’s that supposed to help?”

“You can become friends.”

Theon barks a laugh. “That’s not too likely.”

“Why? You are good with people.”

“What? _Me?_ No. I either flirt with them or drive them away with rudeness and sarcasm, and since I won’t flirt with your cousin…”

“You can do other things as well.” Robb insists with a bit of indignation. “We get along just fine without flirting or being rude.”

“You are a special case.”

“In what way?”

Theon groans and flips them over, pins Robb to the mattress. “Shut up. You know very well.”

He leans down and they kiss and stroke each other in the middle of Robb’s luxurious bed until it’s impossible to stop. However much Robb tries to break away from Theon’s sweet mouth to press and inquire about that ‘special case’ thing, he can’t do it. He goes pliant and ends up thinking over and over again, _make-up sex is awesome, even if it’s belated._

 

~¤~

 

A week later Robb is sitting on the couch in Brienne Tarth’s office, examining the various knick-knacks that must be there to help patients calm down and feel safe. He imagines Theon in this place and almost snorts, thinking about all the rude comments he could have made about the room. He must be one of those aggressive clients who start off trying to dominate and only gradually shrink back into giving away their need for a listening ear. There is a box of tissues on the table, the box decorated with colourful seashells. Robb bets Theon likes those. And he hopes he hasn’t yet needed any of the tissues.

“Nice decor.” He comments after a good fifteen minutes of sitting mutely in front of Brienne.

“Thank you.” She pauses, waiting for Robb to take the next step. He remains silent, though, not wanting her to analyze him too. The only reason he’s here is Theon. He doesn’t have any problems that need help. Her expression is unreadable, but Robb detects some curiosity in her gaze when she looks at him. “Theon has given me permission to tell you everything he has said regarding your relationship.”

“Really? And, uh, is he… do I make him… happy?”

A barely perceptible smile spreads over her face. “I believe you are a very good influence and someone he has an important bond with.”

That’s not really an answer, but, Robb thinks, therapists are like oracles, you won’t ever get a straightforward statement from them. It’s up to you to decide what they mean.

“But he is upset about the lack of reciprocity he detects in your relationship.” She goes on and Robb frowns. That doesn’t sound good.

“What does that mean? Does he think I’m egoistic?”

“On the contrary.” She says gently. “He thinks you neither take care of yourself, nor let him do it for you. Moreover, he is convinced you don’t find him good enough to be trusted with your problems.”

“Oh.”

“He feels inferior sometimes, because, in his words, everything revolves around how fucked up he is.”

“Yes, because he isn’t well and I lo - care for him.” Robb blurts out, then reins himself in. He has nothing to explain, why did he react like that?

“You don’t have to hide your feelings from me.” Brienne encourages him. “As a therapist, I’ve sworn confidentiality. Nothing will leave this room without your explicit permission.”

Robb stares at her. Could he say it? It would feel nice to tell someone, even if they are paid to listen and keep it to themselves. Whoever else could he confess to? No one, to be quite honest. “Alright.” He nods. “I love him.”

“That’s a good thing, Robb.”

Robb lets out a disbelieving chuckle and he tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling. His eyes water a little and goddamn it, she must be a talented therapist if she can make him cry within half an hour. “I don’t know. It will scare him witless when he realises it.”

She lets out a hum. “Don’t you think he will take it well?”

Robb shakes his head, refusing to look away from the faint yellow surface above them. No, Theon won’t take it well. Robb either has to wait him out until he says it first or he has to take the risk of driving him away. What to do?

“How would you tell him?”

“I wouldn’t. As long as I can take it.”

“Maybe we can work out a plan.”

Robb sighs and looks back at her. “What, shall I reserve the restaurant on the top of the Eiffel as if I was asking for his hand?”

“Do you think that would be a successful strategy?”

“No. Of course not.” Robb huffs and sobers up. She’s really going to make him think this over, isn’t she? “I think the best chance I have is not making any fuss about it. If I just said it like anything else, naturally, he might not freak out. Because it… it _is_ natural.”

“Would he react better if you were casual about it?”

“I don’t mean casual. He would think I was playing with his feelings. No, I mean it should be natural. Neither dramatic, nor flippant.”

“That sounds like a plan, don’t you think so?”

Robb smiles and to his embarrassment, he blushes. She made him imagine it and now he wants to go through with it. Damnit. Brienne is quiet for a moment, watches him squirm, then she changes the topic. “He says you had a panic attack he witnessed.”

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“It has a lot to do with this. Theon told me that you refused to talk about it.”

“We had more urgent matters to deal with.”

“Listen, Robb. I won’t force you to open up, neither to me, nor to him, even though that’s what he truly needs, but it would help if you asked him to do something for you that’s _only_ for you and not for him.”

Only for Robb? “Like… sex?”

“No, not sex. Just not that.” She says quickly. “It should be something that shows him you need him. For example, if you want a hug, don’t just go for it, but ask him to give you one. If you are uncertain about something, even if it’s as insignificant as choosing a new shirt, don’t keep it from him, but ask for his help.”

“I see.” Theon needs to feel needed. Well, Robb thought he already showed him he is, but sure, he can up the ante. “I can do that.”

“Excellent. Now let’s go back to your panic attack.”

“It happens. Work stress.” He deflects. Who would want to talk about an experience like that? Brienne doesn’t say anything and the clock on the bookshelf ticks by, rhythmically every second, a noise that drives him insane. They spend five minutes in excrutiating silence until Robb can’t bear it anymore and spills.

“I couldn’t breathe.” He whispers at last to his shoes. He doesn’t dare look up. “I - I was dying and there was nothing to do about it. I can’t describe you how it felt, but - there was a cold darkness dragging me down and I thought - I know I thought that was something I deserved. Then I threw up.”

“Do you feel guilty about something?”

Robb shakes his head. “I do everything to the best of my abilities and I try to make good decisions. I don’t think anyone could ask for more. But... maybe it happened because I’m afraid of failure?”

“What do you think?”

Always asking back. God, he is tired of her being his reflection, he wants answers or nothing. “I don’t know. I think it’s just how the stress came out. If I can let it out some other way, it won’t happen again.”

“Is that why you started running?”

“Yes.”

“Have you thought about therapy?”

“There’s no need. People have good and bad episodes, it’s normal.”

“Panic attacks and recurring insomnia aren’t things I would associate with that term.” For the first time since they met, she sounds firm and Robb startles.

“He told you a lot of details about me.” He replies defensively. It irks him a little that this woman is aware of so many things in his life. Theon truly thinks he can’t talk these over with Robb? Is that why he discusses them with his therapist?

“It’s understandable.” As if only just catching herself, she changes her tone back to its usual neutral pitch. “You are important to him.”

“Does he…” Robb has to ask, it’s crucial. “Does he love me back?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

Fuck. He should have known she wouldn’t answer. This has been quite enough of this bullshit. He knows now how to help Theon further along and that’s why he came anyway. The core of Robb’s soul isn’t up for analysis. “Can I go now?”

She seems somewhat sad, but she nods. “Of course. You can leave anytime you want.”

“Thank you.” He stands and they shake hands. He pretends not to notice his own sweaty palm. “I will… see myself out.”

 

~¤~

 

“You look tired.” Theon comments on a Friday evening at Robb’s place, eating the dinner he cooked for the two of them. Robb has been acting strangely all week after coming back from his talk with Brienne and he doesn’t like it. He won’t ask about that session, Robb is entitled to his privacy. Nevertheless, he wants to ease the tension from Robb’s rigid body until he’s back to normal again.

“Sorry. I’m not an entertaining companion tonight.”

“You don’t have to be.” Theon rises from his chair and walks to stand behind Robb. He puts his hands on Robb’s shoulders and starts kneading the muscles through his shirt. “I can give you a massage.”

“I’m -” Robb starts declining the offer, then he seems to change his mind midway. “Okay. Let’s do that.”

 

Half an hour later Theon’s straddling Robb’s hips and digging his thumbs into a peculiarly stubborn knot in his right trapezius. Robb’s whining under him, but so far he endured Theon’s relentless massage like a champ.

“God, that hurts.” He keens into his forearm.

Theon winces and squirts a bit more of the lavender massage oil on his hands. “I know. But I promise it will feel good afterwards. Just a little while more.”

Fuck, Theon hates the smell of lavender. As soon as they are finished, he’s off to a scrub it away in the shower. Once again he has to conclude that Robb’s oldest sibling - Sansa, right? - has a shitty taste. And, another conclusion: she can totally make Robb take anything she wants. The puce coloured cushions in the guest room would be enough evidence of that, but this scented lavender-spice-aroma-whatever massage oil is the figurative cherry on the cake. She would burst out crying at the sight of Theon’s apartment, he just knows.

“Aaand there you go, _chéri._ Your back is done.” Theon pats Robb’s shoulderblade in satisfaction. He’s quite proud of his achievement, he managed to mold Robb’s steel-hard back muscles into - well, into something less painfully tight.

“I will never again consent to this.” Robb pants in faked resentment. “I know it’s worth it, but -”

“Want me to kiss it better?” Theon smirks and walks two fingers up along Robb’s spine.

“Oh yes.” Robb shivers and arches. The beautiful planes of his back ripple with newfound agility and grace. Theon smooths his hands over those shoulderblades once more, then clicks his tongue.

“I will, but first, your chest.”

“Noooo.” Robb whimpers, but obediently rolls over between Theon’s thighs. “My chest is okay.”

“Uh-huh, and what’s this?” Theon asks as he pokes at a spot above Robb’s right pectoral. Robb gasps and closes his eyes in defeat, letting Theon do as he pleases.

It has been a pleasant surprise that he accepted the offer in the first place, but the measures of his compliance tonight exceed all of Theon’s expectations. _Maybe I can give him some slack,_ he thinks as the heels of his hands press their way up towards Robb’s right shoulder. Yeah, he can make this second part lighter than the first. And then Robb can show his appreciation.

He rubs around the pecks, carefully avoiding Robb’s nipples, but they get hard anyway. This is going to turn erotic fast, he realises, so he decides to try getting Robb to open up now, even though he planned to attempt it after the massage. The calm, relaxing buzz is already turning into arousal, he can feel the tension growing in Robb’s thighs.

“Robb?”

“Hm?”

“What happened to your father?”

“I told you, he had a car accident.” Robb opens his eyes and looks at him, then sighs. “He was on his way home from a two-day meeting with Jaime Lannister and Petyr Baelish - you know, that media mogul. It was raining, so the roads were slippery and while taking a sharper turn he went over the guardrail. His… his car hit a tree. They say it’s a miracle he’s… alive.”

Theon nods and strokes Robb’s sternum with both of his hands, up to his collarbones, then to the sides. Robb looks so handsome, he muses in thought. His fair skin gets a pink hue after every stroke of the massage and the way his unmarred flesh yields and relaxes might just be the best sight Theon saw the entire year. Granted, it has been less than a month, but the sentiment counts. He loves looking at Robb’s naked torso under his hands. “And the Lannisters? Did they have a hand in it?”

Robb stares at him for a moment, then shakes his head. “They do have some shady connections, but I don’t think they wanted to… they aren't directly involved. The murder attempt is my Mum’s theory, but there's no evidence, even though most of my family shares her opinion. I might blame the Lannisters in heart, but it’s not likely that they did anything.” His fingertips find Theon’s knees and start tracing absent-minded patterns over them.

“Why would they want to...?”

“Because… ah, it’s a complicated story.”

Theon turns his attention to Robb’s sides and runs his palms over his ribs, spreading the oil over miles of pale skin. “We have time.”

 _Tap, tap, tap,_ go Robb’s fingers on his knees. “Have you heard of Robert Baratheon?”

“Is he the one who cheats on his celebrity wife with all those playgirls?”

“Yeah.” Robb laughs. “He was the one. He passed away not long before Dad’s accident.”

“Oh. Was he close to your father?”

“They used to be friends.”

“I’m sorry.”

Robb shrugs and closes his eyes again. “I didn’t know him at all.”

Theon pours more oil over his fingers and starts drawing gentle circles on Robb’s stomach. “How does he come into this?”

“His celebrity wife, the one you mentioned, was Cersei Lannister.”

“Ah.”

“She and Robert had a prenuptial agreement that included a statement that Cersei won’t have any claim on Robert’s assets in the event of his death.”

Theon hums and scoots down enough to comfortably reach the juts of Robb’s hipbones. He works the muscles around them with his thumbs in a lazy rhythm. Robb clears his throat. “Furthermore, she didn’t get anything from the will either.”

“That gotta hurt.”

Robb grins. “Yeah. My father came into this mess because he was the executor of said will. The problem was that Robert Baratheon wanted to leave his corporation and all of his assets in the hands of his own blood. I don’t know how he worded it exactly, but in a nutshell, he left his legacy to children he really was the father of and to his brothers.”

“Sounds like trouble.”

Robb sighs. “My father and his lawyer friend, Jon Arryn found out that all of Robert’s children who were born from other women have similar features, including hair colour. Features that Cersei’s children don’t have. So they requested a DNA test.” Robb takes a deep breath and his chest rises and falls, trembling under Theon’s palms. “Their suspicions were right. Joffrey and his siblings aren’t Robert’s.”

“Wow. That must have hit them hard.”

Robb snorts. “That’s an understatement. And because of the prenup, they might be left with nothing. From the Baratheon end, at least. Don’t worry, they get enough support from the Lannister side.”

“Might?”

“The legal process is still underway. And, on top of all that, they are fighting with not one, but three people. Robert’s oldest kid and both of his brothers.”

Abruptly, Robb sits up and pulls Theon closer by the waist. “You know, my father has always been a man of justice and honour. But - but I think this time he shouldn't have woken the sleeping lion. So what if Cersei and her kids got the assets? Robert wouldn't have known anyway. And the Lannisters wouldn't have requested that doomed meeting if Dad had left them alone.”

“He wanted to do the right thing.” Theon murmurs and rests his arms on Robb’s shoulders. “It’s not always easy to know which one is that.” He knows that firsthand. All his life, Theon wanted nothing more than to finally do what’s right, but he rarely ever succeeded.

Robb gives him a helpless, sad look, then kisses him. It’s desperate and messy in all its bittersweetness, and Theon decides it’s time to move things further along. But, first he has something to take care of. He pulls back, breathless, and wriggles his oil-slick fingers in Robb’s face. “I’ll go take a shower.”

“Okay.” Robb whispers and leans back in. They lose another five minutes until Theon comes back to his senses. As much as he likes this position, that damn lavender oil is a huge turnoff, for him at least. Like a cloud of perfume fog, stomach-turning. He wants to get rid of it, and fast.

“Join me?” He tries, hoping to persuade Robb into a shared shower. It turns out there’s no need to make any effort, Robb eagerly agrees and within minutes they are standing under the hot spray.

 

Robb has an incredibly fancy walk-in shower that has multiple showerheads and a bench. Theon has fallen in love with it the very first time he used it and he hasn’t been disappointed since. If this was the basis of Sansa’s choice in apartments, he can grudgingly amend that her taste isn’t entirely shit, because the whole bathroom is beautiful, with its big mirror, sand-brown tiles and warm, bright lights.

Now free of the overwhelming oil, Theon closes his eyes and enjoys the heat of the water rolling over his shoulders and down his back. He bows his head and it runs through his hair and over his face, drips down from the tip of his nose and turns his exhales damp. Robb’s body is only a meter away, covered in foam that’s slowly washing down the drain. Theon can hear him move, the splashes and the scrubbing, but most of all, the soft humming that echoes in the glass stall they are in. He has made Robb happy again, he thinks, and it fills him with such irrational pride that he snickers at himself. The humming ceases. Theon wipes his hair back from his face and opens his eyes. Robb is looking at him with a small smile that one might say is timid, but Theon knows better. He sees the coyness in Robb’s eyes and in his posture and the evidence of his growing interest isn’t under wraps either. He should say something maybe, about not laughing at Robb’s voice, but this silence stretches between them like a blanket of understanding and he doesn’t need to speak up at all. Robb starts humming again until the last suds of soap are cleared away from his body, and Theon watches him, watches because he can and because _that,_ at the moment, is his. He still harbours some trepidation about his own nudity in front of Robb, but he can banish it now to the back of his mind where it is just another of his many shames, dealt with and put away.

Something drops to the ground with a thud - it’s the body wash bottle - and Theon realises Robb is staring right at him. He licks away the water from his lips and extends one arm, palm up. That’s all the invitation he needs to give. Robb comes to him with no delay, nor hesitance, stands in his space and presses him up against the tiled wall, his hard planes and soft skin sliding along Theon’s body from chest to thighs. He cups Theon’s face with his warm hands and kisses him so gently it takes all the dirtiness of their arousal away. Theon slides his hands down to his ass and runs them over the smooth skin, along the curves of muscle and plump flesh, and a whole new set of paintings flash behind his eyelids, Robb in a curtain of steam, Robb in streaming water, Robb naked and wet and hard in front of sand-brown tiles. He groans in the back of his throat and Robb pulls away to look at him.

It seems like he wants to say something intimate, his lips part around the first syllable, but no sound comes out. Theon is afraid and excited in equal measures about what it would be, that first word. But then Robb ends up staying mute and just stares, crystalline eyes gleaming so blue that Theon can’t look away. The water makes Robb’s dark eyelashes stick together and gather a droplet or two on their ends, like tiny pearls on chains around globes of sapphire. This feels like a moment when one of them should talk, say something that could express how deeply open he feels now, but the words fail to come and the reverence goes, floods down the drain with the water.

Theon smirks, because he can’t not when Robb is so desperately hard it renders him tongue-tied, and reaches between them to put his hand to good use. A swirl of delight coils in his belly when Robb just sighs and lets him, resting his forehead against Theon’s. He traces his fingers around the head and strokes with playful exhilaration until Robb’s breathing turns ragged. They kiss again, share heavy pants and sensual touches with the constant flow of water as background music. Theon pushes inside Robb’s mouth, his tongue seeking contact, and draws the thumb of his free hand down Robb’s throat, over his Adam’s apple to the dip between his collarbones, and back.

The glass walls of the stall have fogged up minutes ago and seeing them reminds Theon of the Titanic and his first painting session with Robb. He almost makes a joke, but Robb is falling apart fast enough that he wouldn’t have the sense of mind to appreciate it. The sweet, languid fever spreads and rises around them and makes the tingle between Theon’s hips spike. Ignoring his own neglected arousal, Theon swipes his thumb over the tip of Robb's cock and squeezes. Robb makes a sound, between a sigh and a gasp, and arches into his touch.

“You like that?” Theon murmurs. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like keeping his voice down, low enough that it can get lost between their mouths without echoing in the shower stall.

Robb nods and swallows. “Please.”

Well, who could say no to that? Theon slots his head into the crook of Robb's neck and nibbles on the sensitive spots there, not caring if he leaves marks or not. Maybe that Jeyne would see them and once and for all get that Robb is taken. And when he bites down hard enough to bruise, Robb moans and comes, the first loud noise they make ever since they’ve stepped under the spray. Under the dull hum of the water, it’s a soft and shaky sound that bounces off the glass walls with a barely-there echo.

Theon rinses his hand and fits it against the small of Robb’s back until he stops trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure. He is about to suggest they resume things in the bedroom when Robb, without a word, drops to his knees and leans forward to kiss Theon’s tattoo, trailing closer and closer to the center from that spot. When he reaches Theon’s hardness, Theon pulls his head away.

“You don’t have to do that.” He whispers and runs a finger over the shell of Robb’s ear and down along his jawline.  
Robb stares up at him, wet curls plastered to his face, lips parted, and his mouth curves into a smile. “I know.”

No use refusing it, then. All Theon can do is closing his eyes against the water pounding down on him and enjoying the ride. Robb is unpracticed, it’s obvious from the way his throat keeps fluttering, but he’s oh-so-good with his enthusiasm, how he conveys his want into pleasuring someone else. He looks good on his knees too, so pretty it hurts, and Theon feels like a virgin all over again, ready to tumble over the edge just from the sight of what’s going on. A persistent heat crawls up his neck until it fills his mind with fog and shivering desire and something that makes him chant Robb’s name under his breath. He fists a hand in Robb’s hair and tugs, unable to stop. Robb lets him do it without complaint, taking the guidance as relief, rather than an obstruction. His head begins to bob to the grip-release loop of Theon’s fingers until it gets too hard to resist the pull of orgasm and Theon comes, forgetting to pull out, forgetting to breathe, forgetting even his own name.

Robb coughs and spits, which is understandable and a pity at the same time, and his hold on the back of Theon’s knees tightens to painful. Christ, Theon should have been more careful, Robb isn’t used to this. But he has never been one to think straight when his dick was involved, sadly. He helps Robb stand, combs a wet lock out of his eyes and kisses his red-swollen lips in apology. Robb pulls back and rests his chin on Theon’s shoulder, disturbing the pattern of droplets on his skin, and they listen to the sounds of cascading water until the shower goes cold.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go shopping; Theon does something really stupid, then saves a life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I have important school stuff to take care of this week. I hope this chapter is still passable.

 

“Why are we in IKEA, of all places?” Theon asks a week later as Robb sorts through a bunch of those typical royal blue-yellow shopping bags at the entrance of the store. When Robb asked him to help with shopping, he was sort of zoned out and dismissed the part of the request that could have clued him in on the location. Now he is quite regretful about that, even if he got to travel in Robb’s expensive rental car. “I hope you don’t want me to put together some new furniture.”

“I just like the ambience.” Robb answers distractedly, picking out an intact bag at last. He grabs for Theon’s hand without even looking and ends up clutching air. It doesn’t seem to bother him much - he just strays closer and bumps into Theon’s side, still intent on watching the upcoming rows of bedside tables and cabinets.

Theon snorts and tugs him out of a family’s way by the sleeve. “I think you just want to eat those reindeer meatballs.”

 _That_ makes Robb pause and stare in horror. “They are made of _reindeer?”_

“No.” Christ, he’s so easy sometimes. “Beef and pork.”

“Thank God.” As if the weight of the world has just fallen off his shoulders, Robb relaxes. His attention focuses back on the MALM and NORDLI drawers winking at them from their neat little arrangements like demons of doom. Theon urges himself to stay alert - otherwise they will get lost here for hours and spend half a fortune on Daim chocolate. He suspects the meatballs were the deciding factors in Robb’s choice of shopping place, but he truly seems to like what he sees and that’s not good news. If he’s going to stop by every single installation, it will take an entire day to map out this vast labyrinth.

“I _know_ we came for those.” Theon stresses.

“We didn’t!” Robb insists with an indignant pout that makes Theon snicker. “I want to buy a new carpet.”

“There are numerous carpet shops closer to your flat.”

“Yes, but they only sell oriental rugs.”

“What’s wrong with oriental rugs?”

“They, uh…” He’s so bad at making up excuses on the spot, Theon imagines he hears a cricket chirping in the pregnant silence.

“Convincing.”

“Oh shut up.” Robb breaks into laughter and blushes to the roots of his hair. “So what if I want to eat meatballs?”

Theon raises his hands placatingly, but he can’t stop grinning in amusement. “Nothing.”

“Shut up.” Robb repeats and laughs again, pushing at his shoulder.  Theon mimes zipping his lips, but he keeps smiling to himself as they reach the displayed variety of beds. He immediately throws himself on one when Robb starts inspecting the arrangement, because even thinking about the hours of shopping ahead makes him tired.

“Oh fuck, this is amazing.” He moans, stretching spread-eagled on top of the soft linen. “So comfy.”

Robb comes closer and hovers over his head with an awkward expression, stuck halfway between a frown and a raised eyebrow. “You sound obscene.”

Theon ignores his comment. “What about this new mattress?”

People are giving them looks, but who cares, really. It’s like they have never done the exact same thing. Alright, it’s unlikely that they were this loud about it, but still, the point stands.

“I don’t need it.” Robb glances around and sits beside Theon’s hip.

“But this is a lot…” Theon gives him a seductive look. “...harder. Rigid, even.”

“Jesus.”

“And much thicker too.”

“Okay, okay, if you really don’t like this place, we can leave right now.”

“Nah. I’m warming up to it.” Theon grins and sits up. From the “door” of the installation, a woman is staring daggers at them. Scandalized, most likely. Well, she can suck it up, Theon’s feeling especially deviant today and if he wants to make suggestive remarks to his boyfriend, he will. Not her business. He bends over the edge of the bed and runs his fingers over the faux sheepskin rug that lies there.

“I might have to make you buy this one.” He muses and presses his lips to Robb’s bright red ear so that the second part is only for him to hear. “Just to lay you down naked on these soft white threads… the perfect picture.”

Robb covers his eyes with his palm. “You have a terribly one-track mind today.”

“Can you blame me?”

“I think we should just skip right to the restaurant, what do you think?”

Huh, Theon didn’t expect to get that offer, but it’s a nice result, he will take it. This way, Robb won’t have a reason to sulk and neither will they suffer through the entire day. A win-win solution. “Excellent idea.”

At the restaurant, while Robb is consuming his plate of meatballs and mashed potatoes, Theon sets aside his lingonberry juice and taps the tip of his fork to his lips in thought. “What’s up with the marriage offer?”

Robb chokes on his mouthful of food. “The Walder Frey thing? It’s not much of an offer, rather a demand.”

“Demand?”

“He’s our biggest transporter.” Robb purses his lips, his little vertical frown lines deepening. “He owns the majority of the companies that ship in our products from New York. If I don't marry Roslin, he threatens to break those contracts. Finding new partners who can substitute him is a slow process, even though it’s a very pressing matter, so… the marriage offer, as you referred to it, worries me to no end. Not because I’m going to accept, but because I’m not.”

“Where do you ship your goods?”

“To Le Havre.”

“Well…” Theon throws back his drink in one gulp, then watches the last drops of it pool at the bottom of the glass. “My father has a freight ship company there.”

Robb’s expression morphs into pleasant surprise and Theon winces. He shouldn’t have brought this up. “Are you serious?”

“It’s called Pyke.”

“Oh. I know that one. My Dad has tried reaching an agreement with them even before we branched out, but he has been categorically refused.” Robb’s face falls, but then a thought seems to occur to him, one Theon has been dreading ever since he was foolish enough to mention the topic. “But it has been a few years ago… Do you think you can persuade your father to hear me out? It would help quite a lot if we managed to strike a deal with him.”

“He won’t listen to me.”

“It’s worth a try.”

Theon sighs. Truth is, he wants to go back to Le Havre, if only to look at the sea he misses so much, but he doesn’t want to get Robb’s hopes up - Theon has no effect whatsoever on Balon Greyjoy or his decisions. He is nothing, but a kernel of salt in that man’s eye, an annoying hindrance he can’t get rid of fast enough. “I have a few conditions.”

“I’m all ears.”

“One, you won’t come along.” That's rule number one. Robb can never meet Theon's father as his boyfriend, unless he wishes to be slaughtered.

“But -”

 _“In fact,_ I’d like to go alone.” The less people to see his humiliation, the better.

Robb sighs in frustration, but he nods. “Okay.”

“Two, you promise not to be disappointed if it’s not a blazing success.”

“I promise.”

Good enough. Now let's get to the fun part. “And three…” Theon gives him a playful once-over and leans closer to whisper. “Phone sex.”

“Er, I think we are done with our meal.” Robb jumps up, blushing, and leaves Theon laughing alone at their table.

 

~¤~

 

On the last day of January, Robb is lying on his sofa with a pack of frozen peas on his forehead when he hears the telltale sound of a key turning in the lock of his front door.

 _“Salut, chéri._ You home?”

He smiles. When Theon has been talking in French all day, he has a funny tint in his first few sentences after switching to English. If he’s tired on top of that, he drops his ‘h’s sometimes, like today. “In here.”

Robb hears the rustle of clothes as Theon peels off his outerwear, but he doesn’t open his eyes, not even after a fluffy and soft garment lands on his chest. The back of the couch creaks under something heavy. “I have take out.” Theon says from directly above him.

“I’m not hungry.”

Theon pokes the hand that’s holding the package to his head. “What’s up with the peas?”

“I have a headache.”

“Ah, and you don’t want pills, as per usual. It would be a lot easier, you know, if you just took an aspirin.”

Robb doesn’t have the willpower to start arguing about that. He hates medicines, he won’t take them for nuisances that can be cured by a bit of rest.

“Do you want a blanket?” Theon moves around to the other side to pull the frozen pack away and kiss him. Robb only hums, feeling drained. “What’s wrong?”

“We’ve lost a project.” He mumbles. “Someone in the company sells our best ideas to rival firms. I’m trying to find the rat, but it’s not like someone from the Lannisters will give away the source’s identity, so the investigation is currently going nowhere.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s just… frustrating.” Robb sighs and folds his arms over his face, hiding. “I’m fed up.”

Theon hums and pats his sides. “I know a way to cheer you up.” He pushes at the center of Robb’s chest to keep him still and shuffles down to his hips with a suggestive smirk.

“N-no.” Robb says, laughing. He’d rather be in the mood for simple cuddling, but they didn’t have sex the entire week, so he’s not surprised at all that Theon doesn’t take him seriously.

“Just lie back, I’ll do all the work.” He starts unbuttoning Robb’s pants.

“Theon…”

“That’s my name.” When Robb reaches down to pull his hands away, he grabs his wrists and pins them to the cushions on either side of Robb’s thighs. “Keep them here.”

Giving up on fighting, Robb groans. “I can’t reciprocate like this.”

Theon rucks up his shirt and kisses his stomach, his lips soft and cool. “You can thank me after. Now be quiet.” He pulls the underwear over Robb’s hips, then pauses. “Or not.” He adds with a wicked smile and stops talking for a while.

A while, as it turns out, isn’t all that long, much to Robb’s embarrassment, but true satisfaction only sets in when he can finally cradle Theon in his arms and kiss his worries into his warm mouth. They recline half on top of each other on the couch and make out in lazy contentment, which is like the best thing in the world at the moment and Robb’s heart flips and churns with feeling. He gasps, going stock still. “Theon.”

“Yes?”

Robb can’t stop himself. His chest hurts with the force of a thousand needles pressed into his flesh and he can’t take the longing anymore. He closes his eyes and bites his lip, but the words make it through before he can swallow them back, that phrase he has been learning so painstakingly for weeks fills the silence like spring water. _“Je t’aime.”_

Theon’s breath hitches and he pulls away, face slack from surprise. “That’s not thank you in French.”

“I know.”

“Robb.” He lowers his voice in warning. “Don’t joke about this.”

“I’m not joking. I love you.” This only results in a shake of Theon's head, disbelief evident on his face, but Robb still goes on. “I do.”

Theon sits up and scoots to the other edge of the couch, buries his face in his hands. Robb follows him and embraces him from behind, rests his head on his back. This wasn’t the right time, he can feel it in his gut now that the confession is out, but keeping secrets has never been his forte. He knows saying love sounds like serious commitment, a restriction that bounds you and holds you down until you lose yourself further and further into its depth. He is aware, too, of how terrified Theon is of things spiralling out of his control and by not waiting, Robb knows he took away that perceived safety. But he still hopes this won’t lead to a disaster.

“You - you can’t love me.” Theon shakes his head. “I’m damaged goods, barely enough for a nice fuck, not...” He seems to be swallowing back tears. “This is too much weight. I thought - I thought we were doing this for a few months more, tops.”

Robb blinks in surprise and moves to look him in the eye. “Why did you think that?”

Theon refuses to meet his gaze. “You will go back to the States sooner or later, so I thought that would be the end of it. And I’m nothing close to ideal anyway. You should have someone worthy instead.”

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“You know I’m… after _him…”_

“I love you regardless.” Robb slides off the couch and onto his knees between Theon’s legs to get eye contact. He cups Theon’s cheeks with his hands and gives him a peck. “You don’t have to say it back. Just please don’t run away. Can you do that?”

Theon looks lost and worried, but he nods and accepts Robb’s next kiss without hesitation. _He hasn’t bolted, he hasn’t,_ Robb notes in relief, _and that’s all that counts._

 

~¤~

 

If there was a prize for the worst boyfriend ever, Theon has no doubt he would get it for the upcoming three times ahead. What would be able to top lying into Robb’s face after he confessed his unreserved love? Oh, yes, running away only a few hours later when the poor boy has gone to take a shower. If there was a prize for the biggest coward too, Theon would take that as well with this outstanding performance. He is freaking disgusted by himself, but he forces his mind to tuck that train of thought away and enjoy the night. He has gone to a club - one so trashy that it’s a miracle it has a license. The music is deafening, pouring out from every corner of the room to flood the building with sound. People are louder still, trying to shout their filthy promises and drunken slurs over each other’s heads. It’s a place that’s too vibrant and too dirty to be likeable, but Theon tries anyway, because Theon-before-Robb did like it to an extent.

He dances in the middle of the floor, crowded by throngs of people, warm bodies pressing against him from every side. Their sweaty-slick skin radiates heat and sex and the flow of their moves is starting to spin him into the haze too. He welcomes the sensation like an old friend. This was what he has done after Ramsay, only he did it every single night, he lost himself into booze and girls until he felt free again. Maybe, if he manages to do that again, he will feel less obligated to - to stay bound by Robb’s love.

There’s a brunette who sashays up to him and presses her curves against his front, rocking to the rhythm. Her body is shapely, a nice hourglass with just enough fat to grab onto, and her eyes glint with life and laughter. They are a deep chocolate brown, like her permanently sun-kissed skin and that’s the farthest anyone can be from Robb, which is why Theon chooses her to lose himself with. She is exactly his type, or what his type has been before Robb, anyway. She’s pretty and kind of coy and ripe in a way only intact souls can be. Her body language is a scream for debauchery, though, and that’s what makes her truly attractive in his eyes. She’s easy, sexy, and not in the least bit dangerous. Perfect for a night of no strings attached.

They dance to a few more songs, then Theon offers to buy her a drink. He is disappointed that not even her plump cleavage - which might just be the only thing he misses from Robb - could make him hard yet. But it might be the alcohol, he needs a bit more encouragement. She gets a cocktail and sucks on the straw in it with her lipstick-red lips forming an O. Theon knows Theon-before-Robb would have been bursting at the seems from that alone, but he only feels sick and so very cheap. Nevertheless, he chuckles along with every crappy joke that makes her titter and ignores the annoying way she can’t stop twirling a lock of her hair. After long minutes of this, he’s just about to buy another drink when she casually slips a manicured hand over his crotch. Theon-before-Robb would have fucked her right then in the bathroom. As it is, Theon- _after_ -Robb jumps off his stool and makes a beeline for the toilet to puke his guts out.

When there’s nothing more to come out, he staggers to the sink and washes his face with ice-cold water. He stares at his reflexion in the cracked mirror, looks beyond the speckles of dirt on the glass and watches the dull pallor of his skin, the exhaustion in his eyes. A neon lamp flickers overhead and casts shadows of misery on his face while the bass is thumping on outside. His phone chimes in his pocket and he fishes it out, finds seven missed calls and a text message. Like a punch to the gut, his guilt courses through him when he sees the ID. What the fuck has he done again? Dany has been right, Theon truly can’t make any good decisions. It’s his goddamn destiny.

 _“Imbécile.”_ [Idiot.] He hisses at himself and presses his forehead against the cool surface. He watches as the plugged up, broken sink struggles to swallow the dirty water in it and the ripples of waves his falling teardrops make in the liquid. His phone lights up again.

_ >> Are you okay? Please call me ASAP. Robb << _

_~¤~_

 

The next morning he looks like he went through a zombie apocalypse as he sits in his studio at Rivoli and tries _not_ to paint Robb’s features on a coursework for one of his classes. Oberyn Martell, another painter in the house and his most annoying friend is munching on an apple a few feet away, perched on a chair.

“Let me get this straight. Yesterday, he confessed he loves you. You, using your typical avoidant methods, lied to him, then ran away to a club, tried to fuck a girl, threw up in the bathroom and cried over his worried messages like a sap.” Oberyn concludes with a shake of his head and takes another bite. “So stupid.”

“I know. What do I do now?”

“He’s not gonna like it that you went cruising.”

“Fuck you, do you think I’m not aware of that?” Theon throws away his paintbrush and it leaves a white streak over the parquetry. “Poor Robb. I’m such a shitty person.”

“You are.”

“Thanks, Oberyn. You have a real knack for pep talks.”

Oberyn pelts him with the core of his apple. “What do you want me to say? You can be a royal asshole, but I guess he knew that already. He did ask you not to run away, which means he must have counted on you screwing up like you did. So there’s still hope that he won’t blast your head off once you step through the door. You hurt him, fine, now go apologise and make amends. I doubt he will refuse.”

Theon punches his own thigh in frustration. “But now I’m afraid to go back!”

“God, Theon, get your shit together.” Oberyn stands up and shakes Theon’s shoulders. “Do you love him or not?”

“I-”

“Forget it, here’s an easier one: do you _want_ _to_ go back to him?”

“Yes.” Ironic, huh? Less than twenty-four hours ago he couldn’t have run away faster.

“Then there is your answer.”

 

The following afternoon, still not answering Robb’s desperate calls, Theon visits Dany at her apartment.

“You look like shit.” She informs him after she and Missandei, her part-time babysitter of the day take the babies back to the nursery.

Theon takes it in stride - he got that comment from Pauline too after opening the café. “Thanks.”

“Why won’t you go back to him?” Dany asks him gently and Missandei nods in the background, washing baby bottles.

Theon gapes. “You know?”

“Of course we know, Oberyn told us.”

“That fucker. You guys just can’t stop gossiping, can you?”

Dany shrugs. “Gossip is literally my life nowadays. You can’t do much more when you are confined to three little devils.”

Grasping at straws, Theon tries distracting her with another topic. “How’s the father?”

She sighs and casts a worried look at the bedroom. “He’s sick.”

“Something with his stomach.” Missandei adds.

“Oh. Did he see a doctor?”

Dany shakes her head. “One of my friends, Mirri, gave me some nux vomica. That will cure him, I’m sure.”

Theon is about to ask further, glad for the lifeline he’s been given, but a word makes alarms blare in his mind. “Did you say nux vomica?”

“Yes, why?”

“Christ, Dany. Do you know what’s made of nux vomica? Fucking _strychnine.”_

She frowns and Missandei steps closer, repeating in utter confusion. “Strychnine?”

Theon isn’t sure he has time to explain, but studying Biology requires you to know a few things about plants and their poisonous seeds, and if Drogo has taken nux vomica… “Have you given him any?”

“Yes, ten minutes ago -”

“Shit!” Theon runs into the bedroom, already in the process of calling an ambulance, and finds Drogo swimming in sweat. He doesn’t look like he has started convulsing yet, but every second counts if he really was poisoned by that Mirri, whoever she is.

They get to the hospital just in time for Drogo to receive the necessary medical care. After hours of anxious waiting, the head doctor, some Dr. Mormont, peels a shaking Dany away from Theon’s side and informs her that her husband will get back on his feet without any permanent damage. She’s so overwhelmed from relief that she almost knocks the doc over with her forceful hug of joy. Theon receives one too - he essentially saved the guy’s life, or his Biology studies did, anyway, so he’s kind of smug about it - but then she turns back to the doctor and begins asking the endless list of questions a worried wife can ask. There’s no way Theon is staying for that, so he says goodbye and beats a hasty retreat. Doctor Mormont seemed more than willing to take over from there.

The sky is darkening outside when he leaves the building and the metro is brimming with dozens of tired workers. Wedged between a dozing woman and an athlete back from training, Theon can’t stop thinking about Robb, worrying about him. What if an accident like this happened to him too? What if he has taken something with his sleeping pill that makes a lethal combination? What if he needs help, but he has no one he can reach or call? It’s an unbearable thought, one that eats away at him until he realises the train has long left Alésia and is, in fact, getting closer and closer to Étienne Marcel and, at the same time, to Robb’s place.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, guys, be careful with nux vomica products, they can be highly poisonous.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chance meetings, a revelation and a kiss goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weeks go so fast, I feel like I have just posted the previous chapter. Anyway, here you go, have fun reading the new one! :)
> 
>  
> 
> Almost forgot - WARNING: aggressive slurs towards the end.  
> Oh and let's make it clear that I detest that kind of talk and attitude.

 

Theon has done a fair number of stupid things in his life - in his darkest moments he thinks the biggest one was taking his first breath - but so far he either got away with them or got punished so violently that it seemed justified to lick his wounds in peace. However, he has never before had to face off someone who just glares and frowns at him while blocking his way to his intentended destination. This passive-aggressive display throws him off guard and he is rendered to a blundering fool in a matter of seconds. His opponent isn’t Robb, sadly. He could have dealt with that by groveling for forgiveness. No, the person who currently keeps him away from Robb is a fiery redhead girl who Theon’s pretty sure is the famous Sansa. She is taller than him, which makes it all the more awkward when he tries to shuffle past her in the hallway and she steps in his path.

“He called you  _ nine times _ last night.” She hisses like a rattlesnake. It’s almost funny that these are the first words they speak to each other, yet both of them are acutely aware of who the other is.

“My phone… fell into the Seine.” Well, that was a pitiful lie. If Yara heard him, she would have denied all their family ties without a second thought.

Sansa doesn’t comment, but keeps giving him that ice-cold stare which could have been arousing if Theon wasn’t on the receiving end of it. She’s so similar to Robb in appearance that it’s not hard to imagine how he is going to look when Theon gets to him at last.  _ If _ he gets to him, that is. 

Someone sniffs and blows their nose in the bedroom loud enough for them to hear and Theon startles. “Is he crying?” He whispers and hunches his shoulders in shame.

She arches an elegant eyebrow. “He’s got the flu.”

“Oh.” How bad is it that he’s glad to hear that? “Okay. I, uhm, I see you can take care of him, so... I’ll just… go now.” He tries slinking back out the door and this time she doesn’t stop him, but Robb calls out from his room.

“I cab ‘ear you.” Wow, that’s one hell of a stuffy up nose. There’s more blowing, then the sound of a bed creaking and a sigh. “Dheon, I know you’re dere. C‘mere.”

“I would, if only your bloody sister let me.” Theon mutters under his breath. Sansa is really hot, he would gladly hit on her in other circumstances, but God, is she annoying. She gives him one last disdainful glance, then makes her way to Robb’s bedside. Theon follows her and finds Robb buried under thick blankets, pressing a tissue to his red nose.

Sansa smiles and leans down to kiss his forehead. “Soup's in the fridge, heat it up tomorrow. Here’s the medicine.” She shakes the box in her hand, then puts it on the bedside table. “Take another dose in the morning.”

Robb’s eyes are flickering back and forth between her and Theon, but settles on his sister in the end. When he speaks, his voice is rougher than gravel. “’M not an invalid.” 

“Of course not.” She singsongs. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Have fun in Marseille.”

“I will.” Without acknowledging Theon’s presence, she turns and walks out the door.

Robb opens his mouth to say something, but it turns into a coughing fit. He hacks up half a lung, then closes his eyes and lies back in exhaustion. “Sansa, my sister.” He whispers.

Theon shuffles closer. “I know. We sort of - talked. Before I came in here.” When Robb doesn’t react in any way, he clears his throat. “When did you get this sick?”

“Yesterday.” Robb’s eyes open to a delirious squint. “I guess that headache wasn’t really exhaustion.” 

Poor thing. The fact that Theon left him couldn’t have helped fighting the virus. See, this is what he does to good people, hurts them when they would have needed love the most. This is how Theon works. Things get ruined in his hands. 

As if reading his guilty thoughts, Robb sighs and extends a weak hand. “It’s not your fault.”

Keeping his disbelief to himself, Theon nods and entwines their fingers. He sits on the edge of the mattress and smoothes his other palm over Robb’s forehead to check his temperature. It’s nothing good, even as Robb shuts his eyes again and leans into the touch. His skin is hot and sticky from sweat and his hair curls into wet strands at his temples. Theon can’t help, but wince in sympathy. “You are burning up.”

“Hm.”

“Do you need anything? Tea?”

Robb shakes his head. Theon bites into his chapped bottom lip so hard that he tastes blood. “Robb, I’m -”

“It’s okay.” Robb cuts him off. His hand tugs at Theon’s. “I’m not mad.”

“You should be.”

“I’m just tired. And disappointed.” He forces himself to look at Theon with his feverishly gleaming gaze. “Because you lied.”

He did. How could he? Where is his conscience when he needs it the most? Why is it that his own fear is able to grip him so hard that it becomes priority no matter what? Where did he learn this cowardice? Alright, going through Ramsay…  _ and _ his father must have something to do with it. But that shouldn’t be enough to rob him of his spine. Shouldn’t be enough. “I’m so sorry. I’ve regretted it as soon as I stepped out, but I couldn’t stop, I had to run. I felt trapped and all I could think about was getting away. I’m sorry, Robb. I won’t do it again.”

By the looks of it, Robb hasn’t quite managed to follow his apology. He tugs on Theon’s hand again, trying to pull him closer. “I’m glad you came back.”

“Of course I’ve come back.” Theon pauses. “Can you forgive me?”

Robb gives his guilt-stricken face an assessing stare, trying to blink away the delirium. It more or less works, because realisation flashes over his features. “What else have you done?”

“I…” Theon swallows and averts his eyes. “I went to a club. Drunk myself stupid. Then - then I danced with a woman.”

“Was she pretty?”

God, that’s the least fucking relevant thing at the moment. What does it matter if she was a pretty or not? Theon lets out an incredulous laugh. “Yeah, she was…” He admits. “But it was awful. I hated every moment of it. We - we had a drink or two.”

“And then?”

“Then I -”  _ Threw up in a dirty stall. Cried over my own stupidity. Broke a doorknob back home. _ “I left. And I spent all my time working these past days, truly. I didn’t cheat on you, I swear, I went home and fell asleep right away.”

“You’re rambling.”

“Am I?” Theon rubs his eyes. “I always seem to around you.” Shit, that didn’t quite sound the way he wanted it to. 

He tenses up, waiting for the storm, but Robb just smiles. “I believe you.”

“Do you really?”

Robb nods and pulls on his hand until he bends over into a hug. Theon lets out a sigh of mixed relief and guilt. “I feel miserable.”

“Me too.”

“Then let’s be miserable together.” He murmurs and extricates himself from the embrace to undress to boxers and a shirt. Robb’s blue eyes are blinking at him in dazed confusion until he slips under the covers and switches off the lights.

“You’re gonna catch it from me.” Robb croaks out then.

“That’s possible.” Theon smiles and pulls the blanket higher over them. “Let’s go to sleep,  _ chéri.” _

 

~¤~ 

 

Robb wakes up enclosed in a warm little roll of blankets, shivering and swimming in sweat at the same time. His mind is all fuzzy and confused from sickness, but at least his throat stopped hurting sometime during his sleep. It’s dark, so it must be nighttime or maybe Theon has drawn the blinds… oh! 

“Theon” He calls out and frees one of his arms from his bundle to grope around in search of another body. He almost forgot he wasn’t alone like he thought he would be.

Nimble fingers close around his own and stop him from flailing around. “I’m here.”

“Whattime…” Robb mumbles and tries sitting up, but Theon pushes him back down. Something lights up behind Robb’s eyelids - oh, maybe he should have opened his eyes. No surprise he can’t see.

“Two in the morning.” Theon answers and his phone clatters on the nightstand. He shifts around until his left hand can wriggle under the neck of Robb’s shirt and slide down to rest between his shoulderblades. His palm is cool on Robb’s furnace-hot skin, uncomfortable, makes Robb grunt and squirm under its pressure.

“Your fever has gone up again.” Theon declares quietly and retracts his hand. “I’ll get a thermometer.”

“No, stay with me.” Robb whines. Even though he is aware of how childish it is, he captures Theon’s arm and hugs it to his face. It smells like his own shower gel, not like the usual sage and salt combination. He must have taken a shower while Robb was asleep.

“Okay.” Theon lets out a soft laugh.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I won’t.”

Unable to force his eyes open, Robb drifts into a medicated haze. He is floating in and out of consciousness, alternately shivering and sweating from the flu. “I’m so cold.” He whispers after what might have been an hour or mere minutes.

Theon shakes his arm free and worms it under Robb’s neck, pulls him closer and starts rubbing circles on his back. “Here. Better?”

Robb has no energy to move a single muscle, so he remains quiet, but his trembling stops. A surge of clarity hits him. Theon has left him, almost cheated on him and yet he let him back into his bed after a simple sorry? He’s too kind and forgiving sometimes. Ignores his own hurts. He knows he should hold a bit of a grudge and send Theon out of his room, but he feels terrible and his sickness makes him crave human contact. He would have had to grit his teeth through this alone if not for Theon coming back. So it’s for an entirely selfish reason that he acts as though nothing happened. However, what he does after the illness is out of his system is a big question.

“What’s this under your head?” Theon nudges the cloth under Robb’s curls, oblivious to Robb’s mental process.

“A pillow made by Arya.” Robb grins and snuggles into Theon’s torso. It feels so good for his bone-tired body. “I know it’s hideous.”

It only belatedly reaches his mind that Theon can’t even see it in the darkness, not even the eyesore colours of it, so he adds “It’s patchwork. Or something.”

“I thought she wasn’t fond of girly things.”

“That’s true. But she tried for a short while.”

She made it back when Mum tried to get her to do the things Sansa was dying for, sewing, dancing, singing. Little Arya hated them so much, but she has never been one to back down from an obstacle. Therefore, she took to it as if it was a challange and ended up completing the flat, ugly thing under Robb’s head. He accepted it merely out of kindness, but has grown to love it over the years because it contained memories of home. When he feels sad or under the weather, he takes it out to comfort himself.

“Dad has one too.” He adds as an afterthought, though he isn’t quite sure if he said the story of its origins aloud. “He always takes it with himself when he goes on longer trips...I mean he used to. Take it with himself.” Ugh, it’s hard to deal with tenses right now. 

“Last time we talked on the phone, he said he wanted to suffocate Jaime Lannister with it, he was so annoying.” Robb smiles into Theon’s chest. That was a funny conversation. He loved when his father was irritated enough to joke about it. “I’d like to see that, I told him. He said I would have if I had chosen to go with him, but we would have to save it for next time.”

For some reason, Theon freezes and stops stroking his back. Robb’s mind is slipping back into a feverish buzz, but even with dulled perception, he realises he might have said something he shouldn’t have. “What do you mean ‘if you had chosen to go with him’?”

That’s kind of obvious, right? “He asked me if I wanted to go with him to his meeting with Jaime Lannister.”

“You didn’t tell me this.”

Robb remains silent for a while. Did he really not tell it? It’s not like it was a secret. He declined the invitation because he would much rather spend his time analysing economic figures than meeting any of the Lannisters. It was an obvious choice. Jon even commended him for it at the time. Dad only asked out of politeness.

Theon shakes him by the shoulder. “Robb?”

“He said I can come to learn more about legal processes and the leaders of other companies in the business.” Robb feels cold dread crawling up his spine. It might be the fever or just the fact that he doesn’t like thinking of those days. “He didn’t pressure me or anything and he knew I despised Joffrey Lannister and his family. It wasn’t a surprise that I stayed home. He didn’t hold it against me. He cracked a joke that we could have switched behind the wheel and that’s all.”

“God, Robb.” Theon sounds pained. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

Why is he so accusatory? Does he blame Robb for something? Robb forgot to tell, he didn’t think about it, but he wasn’t lying. He refused to think about it, because it… because he doesn’t… 

“It doesn’t make any difference.” A tremor runs through Robb’s body and he starts crying, in mental or physical pain, he isn’t certain. “This is what happened, rumination won’t change it. I didn’t go, I have to deal with the consequencies.”

Theon squeezes him close and sighs. His breath ruffles Robb’s hair.  _ “That’s _ the reason why you… I knew there was something you didn’t tell me.”

“It’s not important.”

“But it is. You have to understand that it’s not your fault.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“I understand. It’s not my fault, but it’s still me who could have saved him. Therefore it’s me who have to work the hardest to follow the path he began.”

Theon pulls back and scoots down until they are face to face. Robb keeps his eyes stubbornly closed, even after Theon starts stroking the sweaty locks of hair back from his face. “You don’t owe anyone. And you couldn’t have saved him if this was his fate.”

Robb swallows a sob. He feels tears leaking out from behind his eyelids, trickling sideways towards his pillow. “I could have.”

“Are you a better driver than him?”

“No.”

“Then you would have crashed into that tree too.” Theon wipes the teardrops from the bridge of Robb’s nose. “Do you think he would have wanted that?”

“No.”

“It was an accident, Robb. An accident.”

By now Robb is too far gone to process the words enough to understand what they mean. He moves his aching joints until he’s curled up in a ball, wedged into Theon’s side. “I should have died with him.” 

“He is alive.”

Alive? Breathing with machines equals living? “He won’t wake up. I should have been with him. I should have died.”

“Alright.” Theon’s voice takes on a resigned tone. “This is the sickness speaking. We will discuss this later, okay?”

“No.”

“Robb… You are trembling from the fever. Let’s sleep.”

“No.”

_ “Robb.” _

“No.”

Theon huffs and pulls the blankets higher over Robb’s back. “Okay.”

“Okay.” What’s okay? Robb isn’t sure, his mind is foggy from crying. He sniffs and burrows closer to Theon’s warmth and the world goes black.

  
  


~¤~

  
  


Days later Theon is still working on a solution to get Robb into a mindspace that allows him to open up. He tried to encourage a serious discussion about feelings, but it went without any success. Since that night, Robb carried on as if that bit of revelation about his father’s accident didn’t happen. He did admit to having other panic attacks, but he flat out refused to acknowledge the emotional aspects of it and waved Theon’s attempts away. And… it’s not like Theon can push too much right now. He’s already standing on thin ice after his fiasco. Robb has pretty much clammed up and he doesn’t seem to budge an inch. He has to prove himself for Robb’s trust, Theon deduces, and that’s the reason why he has suggested to go on that trip to Le Havre today. He will do his goddamn best to get his father’s signature on a contract, come hell or high water.

“Text me when you arrive, okay?” Robb asks as they walk inside  _ Gare Saint Lazare.  _ They have just passed through a bunch of tourists posing in front of Arman’s  _ L'heure de tous  _ sculpture, intrigued by that accumulation of clocks. Theon hates these groups, they always seem to be moving at a snail’s pace and it’s near impossible to cut through them. Robb is calm, though, obviously lost in thought, and he hasn’t yet tried for any PDA since they stepped out of Theon’s flat, which is concerning.

The weather is clear and mild outside, one of those winter days with piercing golden sunshine that have you wishing for summer. Some of the kids inside the station are already flaunting their spring collection of shorts and skirts and Theon, too, can do without a scarf. But Robb still has coughing fits every now and then, so he takes his own off and curls it around Robb’s neck when they stop at the platform that leads to Theon’s train. 

Robb gives him a sad look and starts fiddling with the edge of the garment. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Theon steps closer and, in apprehension of giving them away in public, only clasps Robb’s left elbow. “This is the right time, trust me.”

Robb nods and stares at his shoes. “I guess we could do with a break too.”

_ What?! _ “Break?”

“To, uhm, to think things over.”

Surely not. He surely doesn’t want to break up, does he? Theon hasn’t been that much of an idiot and he has thoroughly apologised for everything and Robb said they were okay, he can’t be thinking -

“I mean… think about us, Theon. And please decide if you want to be in this for the long haul or not, because  _ I am _ and I have to know where you stand. I can’t mediate between your hot and cold reactions if I don’t.”

“I -”

“Just think about it. I’ll respect your decision.” 

Theon purses his lips to keep himself from saying sorry again and they go silent again. It isn’t comfortable at all. He is swallowed by guilt, but it must be worse for Robb, who opened up and has been left vulnerable. Theon can imagine how naked he feels right now. 

A regular Intercity from Rouen trots into the station and people start bustling around them like busy, dull-clothed bees. Robb pretends to be engrossed by the display in a nearby Relay shop, but he can do nothing to hide the misery in his eyes. Theon glances around, then grabs Robb’s other elbow as well.

“Are you okay?” He asks, squeezing.

Robb nods. “It’s just… I’m afraid you won’t come back this time.”

Theon sighs and resist the urge to kick himself. Now he could say he promises all he wants, but it wouldn’t mean a thing after what he has done. To hell with it, if he can’t comfort his boyfriend with words, he will do it with actions. He cups Robb’s face with his palms and kisses him in front of everyone who cares to watch. He keeps it chaste and short, just a soft press of lips against lips. No need to trigger some stray homophobe in the crowd.

Robb smiles after Theon pulls back and starts backing away. He twists the end of the scarf in his hand and mouths  _ ‘love you’.  _ Theon knows what he’s supposed to reply, but… he can’t. Robb will have to wait some more for that. He plasters a smirk on his face, winks, then turns around and doesn’t look back until he’s sitting on his train to Le Havre.

 

~¤~

 

As soon as he is settled in his hotel, he changes into comfy jeans and a sweater he got from Robb and goes to re-explore the city of his childhood. His first trip leads him to the shore, of course. He missed the sea like he would miss a lung, but not the industrial side of it, not the mass of containers and ro-ro vessels, even less the oil tankers. They are crude and intimidating and they bring the smell of iron and petrol into salty-fresh workdays. They remind Theon of a war he has not lived through and the thought leaves unpleasant impressions in the back of his mind. It really is a magnificient sight when a ship carrying other ships comes to port and Theon suspects his father can probably get off on that alone, but he isn’t mesmerized by that kind of power. Le Havre’s pebbled beach and the dark blue stretch of water, on the other hand, is much closer to what he sees in his best dreams. He lingers for half an hour or so, checks out the water with a hand and fills his chest with familiar air. He’s just about to leave, when someone jumps onto him and nearly gives him a heart attack.

“Maron, look at the thing I’ve found! You won’t believe it!” Shouts his brother directly next to Theon’s ear. 

“Get the fuck off me, Rodrik.” Damnit, they had to ruin this too. What the fuck are they doing here? Theon has no doubt he’s God’s favourite plaything, because the Lord can’t stop making his life harder. He elbows Rodrik in the stomach to get out of the iron-tight hold and stumbles away when his brother doubles over in pain. 

In the meantime, Maron has run up to them and started laughing in that cruel way that’s kind of a trademark in the Greyjoy family. “Oh my God, where did you find this squid, Rodrik? He’s a bit pale, but I guess that’s a side effect of too much  _ rosbif.”  _ [roast beef]

“He was loitering around all useless as usual.” Rodrik wheezes and spits at the ground in a crass show of distaste.

Good to be home after more than half a decade. “Thank you for the warm welcome.”

“I don’t think this was warm, Little Theon, but you know.” Maron grins, that dumb fuck. He wouldn’t see irony if it came at him with a jackhammer. “Did you come to freeload off of us again?”

“Yes, of course, I’ve come to steal the money straight out of your bank account.”

“What the fuck did you say?”

Shit, Theon really has to stop being a sarcastic little shit, these guys are like robots. They only understand words, intonation and non-verbal signs flow straight through their systems.

“Fancy clothes.” Rodrik pipes up, eyeing Theon’s sweater. “Did you get them from your boyfriend?”

The breath freezes inside Theon’s throat. “H-How do you know I have a boyfriend?” Fuck, he confirmed it.  _ Fuck. _

Maron snorts and starts stirring - dragging - Theon towards the place where they must have parked their car. “Yara has a big mouth when she drinks.”

They take him to their father’s office immediately, loyal bloodhounds delivering a fine piece of game to their master. They don’t stop making jabs at him and Robb, though luckily they don’t seem to know who he is. And it turns out ignoring them is like riding a bicycle, you can’t forget it once you learned the how-to. The gloomy room where Balon spends every single one of his miserable days is still in the same ancient building that seems ready to fall apart from a stronger gust of wind. Even though he must have millions by now, the old crab is too much of a skinflint to renovate the place. Theon swears there are holes in the wall from the goddamn World War.

“Dad! We’ve brought you a surprise.” Rodrik announces as they barge into Balon’s windy office. Balon looks up and his grey eyes sharpen into pits of contempt.

“I don’t have time for faggots. Throw him out.”

“Father, I’ve come to talk business.” Theon steps in before any of his brothers can comply. “I’ve brought you a contract that can make you twice as rich as you are - just listen to what I have to say.”

Balon consideres him with maliciously squinting eyes, then grunts and turns back to his work. That’s probably as much as Theon can get, so he stammers out what he can remember out of Robb's offer by heart. His papers are back in the hotel. Goddamn chance meetings. He does his best, really, and when he looks around, both of his brothers seem to be counting imaginary euros in their minds. It must have gone well enough. Spurred on, Theon starts explaining the technical details. “If you accept this partnership with the Stark Corporation, you will transport cargo mostly from New York -”

“Stark.” His father cuts him off. Theon swallows and nods. “Did I not tell you enough times that I will never deal with worthless Yanks? Why did you try to feed us this trickery -”

“But Dad -”

“Shut up, Maron!” Balon shouts and slams his fists down on the table, standing up. “It was their goddamn free world that brought us this filth, that makes us keep all abominations of nature alive against the rules of natural selection. If it was up to me, every cocksucker and nigger would be off the face of Earth faster than a blink. But no, the US of A had to come and preach about peace and love of all. They can fuck their peace and so-called acceptance, I don’t want any of it. It ruins my country and wrecks the morals its sons should be proud of.”

Theon gapes in temporary stupor. Not in his wildest visions did he imagine his father could react like this. He has always been susceptible to slurs and racism, but this, God, this reached new heights of madness. “Jesus Christ. You have lost it. You have totally lost it.”

“A pussy like you can’t talk to me that way.”

Theon’s face hardens in anger. He won’t get this contract for Robb, no way, even if Balon changes his mind. Someone like this has to be kept as far away from Robb’s person as possible. “Rot in hell.” 

Balon breaks the pencil in his hand in half, then lowers himself back into his seat, a clear dismissal. “Rodrik, take out the trash.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

“Sam. _Sam.”_

“Ah, uh, sorry Jon, I was just checking if she needed help…”

Samwell Tarly really is the shyest guy Robb has ever seen. They are in a packed bar in the Marais, trying to unwind a little after a long day of negotiations, and the boy hardly said anything in the past two hours, despite throwing back twice as much alcohol as Robb himself. The blonde girl he set his eyes on has been watching them with a near constant smile on her face, yet he remained hesitant, ducking behind the corner. Okay, Robb would wager a guess that the pleasant attention is meant for Jon out of the three of them, but Sam could try himself regardless. It couldn’t be that hard. Though Robb has no experience in quick hook-ups, he is confident that anyone with average looks and a bit of kindness could get one. You just have to start an interesting conversation, that’s all.

“If you want to flirt, you should go closer to her first.” Jon advises. “She can barely see you from this distance.”

“Me? Flirting? No, she would just laugh at me.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself. You are a good catch.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“Of course. You are smart and kind, lots of women dig that. Right, Robb?”

Robb hums, scanning his messages. He hasn’t the slightest clue what has been asked, but anything Jon says is probably right. He really hopes Theon will like the flower he bought and won’t make a fuss about Robb going overboard in romantic gestures, because there’s no helping it, he’s in over his head. It was either a rose or a box of chocolate, and Theon isn’t that fond of sweets. Robb would have ended up eating at least half of them.

Jon kicks him under the table. “Robb, would you please stop looking at your phone?”

“Sorry.” Robb sighs and forces himself to focus, even though his phone draws his gaze like a magnet. Theon has been gone for five days and he’s coming back tonight, he might call any minute...

“What’s up with you? Did you even listen to what I said?” Jon’s so serious nowadays, he can’t seem to take a second of respite and he expects everyone to do the same. But Robb can’t, not with his heart aching from all the longing he piled up this week.

“I’m waiting for Theon’s call.” And the thought makes him so reckless, he can’t stop drumming his fingers on the table and sitting at the edge of his chair.

Jon looks up at the ceiling in exasperation. “Did you tell him you are moving back home in May?”

“No, it’s - Do I really have to?”

That earns Robb an incredulous look. “Uncle Benjen is driving us to bankruptcy, we’ve lost five big projects in the last two months.”

“It’s not because of him. I don’t think so.”

“Then what?”

“Someone is leaking out our plans and ideas.”

“They have to be very high up to do this amount of damage.”

“I know.”

“Shit, Robb.” Jon gives him a troubled look, full of worry - a sentiment Robb can share. It seems as though they jump a step back after every two they crawl forward. Maddening, that’s what it is. A goddamn dirty game that Robb isn’t equipped to play and neither was his father. Rickard Karstark, on the other hand…

Robb’s phone beeps with an incoming text and he all but jumps out of his seat. He startles Sam with the sudden movement enough that the poor boy sloshes a bit of his drink on his own black shirt, clumsy as always. Jon blinks, then does a good impression of Patrick Stewart’s facepalm.

 

19:11

_Im back in town_

Finally. Robb gulps down the rest of his drink and stands up.

 

19:12

At the station?

 

19:13

_no. gone out with oberyn and his band_

 

He frowns at that. Theon is already out with some random friends? Robb thought he had just arrived. Whatever. He must have had a good reason not to call sooner. Maybe he thought Robb was working overtime. Yeah, that seems quite rational, considering the previous months of endless workdays.

 

19:14

Where? Just say the place, I’m on my way.

 

19:18

_no need. c u whenever_

Well, that doesn’t sound too promising anymore. Robb purses his lips.

 

19:18

Don’t be an idiot. Where?

 

19:20

Theon!

 

19:22

I will set up camp by your front door if you dont answer in a min

 

19:22

_wheres ur perf grammar?_

Goddamn him. He must have had a hard time with his father, even if he had claimed over the phone that everything was going well. It fits into the puzzle that he would try to draw back after experiencing that dysfunctional bond.

 

19:23

Flew away with my patience

 

19:24

If you don’t wanna meet it’s ok

 

19:24

But I really want to see you. Please

 

19:26

_Pont Saint-Louis_

~¤~

 

The bridge isn’t too crowded when they get to the Seine, but there are several street musicians scattered around, playing jazz with the city lights dancing on the waves. Robb’s eyes find Theon immediately - he is sitting on a sleeping bag next to a band of three, two girls and a guy who has an extravagant fedora on his head. When Robb steps into his line of sight, he scrambles up and smirks with obviously false bravado.

“Oh, look. _Le petit prince et sa rose.”_ [the little prince and his rose] Despite his mocking tone, his arms curl around Robb’s waist in a loose embrace.

“Hi.” Robb grins like a fool and holds the flower up between their chests.

Theon smiles at him and presses a kiss to the corner of his lips. “Tell me you didn’t bring that for me.”

“But I did.”

 _“Merde.”_ Theon curses, but he takes the rose, face tinged pink. He twirls it between his fingers and sniffs its soft petals, not looking Robb in the eye.

There’s a light breeze around them that picks up the smell of water from the river. It mingles with the sweet flowery air and Theon’s familiar scent, creates a heady bubble for two. Robb tries not to show how much it affects him, but he gets a knowing look from Jon anyway. “What are you doing here?” He asks eventually.

“The guys wanted to play here.” Theon gestures at the group he has been sitting with. He doesn’t seem to have noticed that Jon and Sam started listening to the band. “I tagged along.”

“You came home early.” He was supposed to arrive in the late hours of the night and he should have called when the train passed Sartrouville. When he thinks about it, Robb feels a spike of hurt, but he tries not to delve too deep into that emotion.

“Had no reason to stay, I should have left the first day. The deal with my father -”

“I know.” Robb cuts him off. It’s all written on Theon’s dejected face, in the lines of shame around his eyes. “It’s alright.”

Theon’s mouth thins into a bitter line. “I tried, but… I’m sorry I have to disappoint you again.”

“Is this why you didn’t want to see me?” _Why you didn’t call?_

Theon shrugs, averting his eyes. “I _wanted_ to see you, but he said a lot of shitty stuff and I felt like… I don’t know, that maybe I should just leave you alone. I’m not a good person.”

“Theon. We discussed this.” Robb chides and squeezes him in a hug. “You aren’t what he says you are. And you didn’t disappoint me just because your father is a jerk.”

Theon huffs into his neck. “Ugh, you’re gonna suffocate me.”

Robb just laughs and tightens his grip. They watch in silence as Jon comments something to one of the girls in the band, a redhead with a guitar. It gets a loud and disgruntled response in French that makes Sam hunch his shoulders and step back.

“You don’t know nothing.” The girl hisses at last in heavily accented English.

Jon corrects it without a pause. “You don’t know _anything.”_

“Imbécile, _you_ don’t know nothing.”

“For God’s sake, you are saying it wrong. It’s you know nothing or you don’t know anything.”

Robb grins, amused by the entire ordeal, while Theon lets out a snort and pulls back. “Is that the new Green Day or did you come from a funeral?”

Robb chuckles. “Those are Jon and his assistant, Sam.” They really should learn that there are other colours in the world, not just black.

“The hell are they doing here?”

“I told you they were going to visit, remember? They flew in from New York two days ago. By the way, Jon is sleeping in my guest room.”

Theon grimaces. “I figured.”

Robb nuzzles the side of Theon’s face. “I missed you.”

Theon groans as if tortured but doesn’t turn away from the touch. “Can you be any sappier?”

“Yes.”

“Should have known…” Theon mumbles, then flashes a coy smile and rearranges his arms, hooks them around Robb’s neck. “By the way, my answer is yes.”

“To what?”

“To the long haul.”

“Oh.” Robb’s lips stretch into an ear-splitting smile. He didn’t dare hope for a straightforward answer this soon or - well, he didn’t dare hope for an answer, period.

“I - That’s great.” He laughs and they try to kiss, but Robb can’t wipe the grin off his face, just pushes it against Theon’s lips and makes him smile too. “I love you.”

He reaches for the zipper of Theon’s coat to get closer to skin, forgetting the cold, but his hand is batted away. “Come on, pretty boy.” Theon smirks up at him. “Let’s introduce you.”

 

~¤~

 

Forty minutes later they are standing in a half-filled metro car on the way to Rambuteau. Theon has no idea what he’s doing here, squashed between Robb and the metal edge of the seats. He was hoping for some enthusiastic welcome-home sex when Robb assured him he wasn’t mad, but there’s little chance of that now, with Robb’s cousin in the way. In all honesty, Theon would have liked to go to his own place instead of spending the night with the guy, but Robb insisted he come, so here he is.

Robb is back to his cuddly self, probably due to Theon’s feeble attempt at expressing his dedication to their relationship. It would be a nice result if it wasn’t for that ominous Jon. He’s been visibly uncomfortable since his overweight friend, Sam or something, parted from them and he’s staring at the hand Robb has around Theon’s elbow like it personally offended him. Theon can’t blame him, being the third wheel is a rather awkward position no matter what and Robb’s lack of subtlety doesn’t help either. At least their fellow passengers seem content to ignore their suspicious proximity.

Just before they get off, Robb dares being even bolder and leans forward until the tip of his nose and his lips brush the back of Theon’s neck. Theon startles and turns sideways to pinch his hand in warning. He steels himself to stay calm, but he suspects Jon knows it anyway that he would gladly rip the clothes off his cousin, provided a chance. As they exit the station, Robb pulls out a bottle of hand sanitizer and squirts a dollop into his palm, then rubs his hands together. It’s something he always does after using public transport and Theon has never given it a second thought before. But tonight his mind seems to be set on tormenting him, because it bombards him with images of other fluids Robb could wet his fingers with, like lube and… other things, and despite the off-putting smell of alcohol, his cock twitches in his pants.

This is how they reach Robb’s flat, Theon frustrated and turned on, Robb cluelessly affectionate and Jon somber (though Theon has yet to see him in another mood). As soon as their coats and shoes are off, Robb starts for the bathroom, announcing that he will wash up. Theon looks at Jon’s blank expression and decides he would rather like to get clean too.

“Er, Robb, I’ve wanted to ask you something…” He rushes after his boyfriend and catches him on the threshold. “Can I join you?” He rambles in hushed tones - his final attempt to get some tonight.

“No.”

“Please. Don’t leave me alone with him.”

Robb’s smile is barring on a smirk when he answers. “Man up and get acquainted.”

Rejected, Theon scowls and goes back into the living room. Gloomy Jon is sitting on one end of the couch, engrossed in his phone, so he settles on the other, as far away from him as possible.

“I take it you are staying.” Jon looks up.

Theon shrugs. Is this an opening for small talk? “I think so.”

“How often do you sleep here?”

“Dunno, three or four times a week. Why?”

“Just so that I can have my headphones at the ready.”

Very funny... Theon gives him a derisive smile and decides to switch on the TV instead of trying to play nice with the guy. He’s insufferable.

The only good movie he finds is Plein Soleil with Alain Delon, so it’s old as fuck, but at least Alain looks cute. That gorgeous face and those blue eyes... Theon could ogle them for ages. He makes sure to pretend he loves every minute of the film, commenting bullshit in French just to irk Robb’s cousin out of spite. It works like a spell - by the time Robb comes back Jon has been glaring ahead at the screen for minutes.

“I see you’re having fun.” Robb beams and plops down between them.

Theon chuckles. Fun wouldn’t be the first word he would apply to the situation, but he will leave Robb to his illusion. After all, trying to get a rise out of Jon is almost amusing enough to compensate for a most likely unfulfilling night. He stretches his arm over the back of the couch and like clockwork, Robb curves his body into the free space. He’s in his ugly flannel PJs that are as good as a chastity belt, but Theon hopes some petting may still be on the horizon if Jon retreats to the guest room at last. “Sure, _chéri._ We’ve bonded over our mutual interests.”

“Really?”

That seems to be the final straw. Jon coughs and jumps to his feet, face red, and excuses himself. “I’m taking a shower.”

 

~¤~

 

It has been over half an hour since Jon switched off the light in the guest room. Robb has been patient enough, he thinks, has given him a chance to drift off, it’s time to have a little fun.

“Do you like him?” He asks Theon quietly, thinking about his cousin.

Theon’s half asleep with his head resting against Robb’s but stirs and shifts into the touch when Robb runs a hand up the inside of his thigh. “Alain? Only his looks.”

Robb rolls his eyes. _“Jon.”_

“Er, I like him too. He’s, uh... nice.” What a transparent lie. Robb had his doubts, but now this stammered answer has confirmed them. What a pity, he would have liked it if they got along. Neither of the two is well-off in the regard of friends.

“Let’s go to bed.” He proposes and stands up. His blood is already thrumming from excitement. If everything goes according to plan, this will be a night to remember.

Theon groans and makes no move to get up. “I have to shower first.”

“Forget that. You can do it after.”

Instantly alert, Theon’s head snaps up. “After what?” Robb just grins, bites his lip and backs into the bedroom.

 

Approximately five minutes later his nightclothes are nothing but a sad little heap on the floor next to his bed and Theon’s shirt is missing. It’s only by sheer miracle that they remembered to lock the door, but that’s as much caution as they can probably manage tonight.

“Thought you weren’t in the mood.” Theon mumbles while Robb’s tugging his trousers down his legs. “Never felt better to be wrong.”

Robb is _very much_ in the mood, but he didn’t want to leave Jon alone just because of that. It wouldn’t have been polite. He falls onto the glorious four-poster with Theon rubbing up against him, and the wooden bedframe creaks under the sudden weight.

Theon freezes, panting. “Do you think your cousin can hear us?”

“I think he’s asleep.” Besides, the TV is still on. That has to be enough to muffle their noises.

The air in the bedroom feels too hot, sweltering, and every exhale Theon blows across his skin sends shudders racing over Robb’s body. He lets his legs fall apart in the hope that he doesn’t have to say out loud what he desires, but his signs are misunderstood. Theon smiles and takes them as an invitation to follow the usual route and use his mouth. He licks a wet stripe down Robb’s abdomen and takes him in without hesitation, as if it was the best pastime in the world.

“Theon” Robb gasps and rakes his nails over his own chest, arching his back. “I want you to be on top tonight.”

Theon pulls back and gives him a cheeky look. “Riding? Okay.” He’s about to lower his head again, but Robb grabs a fistful of his hair and guides him up until they are face to face again.

“No, I mean… you should fuck me.”

Theon’s jaw goes slack. “W-What?”

“If you are up for it.”

“Fuck, of course I’m…” He seems shocked. Why? It can’t be so surprising that Robb wants them to enjoy each other with the roles switched... Did he think they will go on forever with only one of them bottoming? “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Robb has been sure for weeks now. He wants it.

Theon sits up and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not used to being gentle.”

“And I’m not made of glass. Come on.”

It’s a bit of a blur after that. They share kisses, bites and moans until Theon’s lubed up fingers wander down Robb’s stomach and begin their quest to get him ready. “Did you prep yourself?” Theon gapes as soon as they reach their target and easily slip inside.

Robb blushes. He just wanted to speed things up, he doesn’t want to discuss how he did it. Getting stretched open down there is hard enough to handle in itself. “There was a reason why I showered so long.”

Amazed, Theon drops his forehead to Robb’s sternum. “God, you’re killing me here.”

Robb laughs, but he barely hears his own voice, his heartbeat is pounding in his ears so loudly. It’s ridiculous, he has done the other side of this countless times, he knows it won’t hurt if they’re doing it right. Yet his arousal and fright are commingled into a ball of nerves, inseparable from the insistent sensation Theon’s hands give him, and there’s no telling what causes the tremors in his breathing while he waits.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take too long. Theon withdraws his hand and kisses him once more, then pushes at his hip. “Turn around. It’ll hurt less that way.”

“Okay.” Robb whispers, feeling a bit shy. He turns and raises himself to his hands and knees, swallowing. This new position exposes so much, he’d rather they just start already. “You can forgo the condom.”

Theon’s hands still on his hips. “Don’t wanna overwhelm you.”

“You won’t. Just do it.”

“Alright, _chéri.”_ A palm strokes his back to ease some of the tension, then there’s blunt pressure against his entrance. “Deep breath.”

Oh. _Oh._ It burns a little, like the throb of his flesh when it’s bitten too hard. Nothing unbearable, but it’s thicker than fingers, thicker than anything Robb had there before. He clenches his fists in the bedsheet and tries breathing through his nose. He can’t believe he opened up like this to anyone, he can’t believe someone would take him this way. How liberating it is, to let go and place the trust into a person who won’t abuse it…

Theon bends forward and kisses the jut of his shoulder blade, draws a trail up to his neck. He doesn’t ask if Robb is okay, no – he just nuzzles his skin and starts rocking with the smallest of movements. One of his hands sneaks forward and between Robb’s legs, finds his cock. Robb flinches in embarrassment. His erection has flagged due to his nervousness, but Theon doesn’t comment, just straightens up and begins stroking until everything’s back on track.

“Damn, I missed this.” He groans after the first thrust that knocks a moan out of Robb. The lack of barriers between them sends him spiralling out of control faster than Robb has ever made him lose it. He rolls his hips faster and harder until Robb feels nothing but delight anymore, until it becomes more instinct than consideration.

“Good?” He asks and Robb hums in reply, incapable of coherent words. His muscles shudder from anticipation. “Let’s make it better.”

He alternates the angle of his thrusts and Robb knows, in theory, what he is trying to find, but no preparation can get him ready for the wave of pleasure that runs through him at once. He whimpers, his eyes squeezing shut.

“That’s it.” Theon moans while he keeps hitting that sweet spot. Robb lowers his head to his forearms, barely holding himself together. “That’s it, Robb.”

For all the physical stimuli, this mental one, hearing his name, is what sends Robb’s mind reeling. He’s coming before he can stop himself, shakes through this strange kind of bliss that seems to flow into his very bones from the base of his spine. To his surprise, Theon pulls out instead of staying in place and comes all over his backside, paints him with hot stripes of white. It’s kind of filthy, the slow, cooling trickle of it over Robb’s skin, but also bears the sensation of ownership, of belonging.  He just wishes he could feel it outside of the bedroom too.

Catching his breath, Theon leans back on his haunches and pats Robb’s butt. “Stay still, I’ll get us a cloth.”

 ~¤~

When they are clean and relaxed again, Robb lets out a happy sigh. Every second was worth it. “I can’t believe it took me this long to try bottoming.”

“Imagine all the fun you missed out on.” Theon smirks, then turns on his side to give him a much more sober look. “How come you didn’t do it before?”

Good question. None of his previous relationships reached that level of trust on his side and truth be told, he never felt the urge. He took his sweet time to find the one who could bring that out in him. “I’ve been waiting for the right person.”

“And you think that’s me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

Theon kisses his shoulder. “Less and less by the day.”

Robb smiles. “I thought for a long time that something was wrong with me, you know.”

“Is this your coming out story?”

“No. It’s about my sex drive.”

“I don’t see any problem.” Theon jokes and reaches down to give him a playful fondle under the blanket. The touch on his oversensitive cock makes Robb yelp and they grapple like rowdy teenagers until Theon breaks into a honest-to-God giggling fit and goes limp, pinned under Robb’s body. Robb glowers down at his reddening face.

“Theon, I’m trying to be serious.”

He just laughs, now with his eyes swimming in tears of mirth. “Okay, Monsieur Sérieux, what’s wrong with your libido?”

“I rarely feel it.”

That appears to take Theon by surprise. He comes out of his glee and clears his throat, confused. “But we are having almost daily sex...”

Actually, that perplexes Robb too. “Sorry, I’ll clarify: I rarely ever feel it when I’m not with you.”

The smirk slides back into place. “Cause I’m a sex demon. You’ve fallen into my web.”

“You always act like a child after fucking someone?”

“No, _chéri,_ this is only for you.”

“What an honour.” Robb mutters and shifts away, turning his back. He doesn’t want to share his feelings anymore.

“Aw, Robb, come on.” Theon whines and starts scratching at his shoulder like a cat, as if afraid of upsetting him with too much contact. “I’m curious, truly. Tell me.”

“So that you can joke about it?”

“No, I wouldn’t  - please. I’ll behave.”

Robb doesn’t turn back, but he captures Theon’s hand and pulls it to his chest. “You’ve asked me before how I was able to go years without sex.”

“It still baffles me. I think I would die.”

That elicits a small smile. “It’s because I don’t feel that sort of casual arousal for people that I don’t like enough. I mean, if you showed me the picture of a handsome actor – like your Alain, for example – I wouldn’t be able to say I’d tap that. I only become attracted to someone on a sexual level after I finally become comfortable with them.”

“Then how – we had sex after three weeks.”

“Yeah.” Robb chuckles. His grip tightens on Theon’s hand. “That was a really intense experience for me. Never been that quick before.”

Theon moves closer and presses his face to Robb’s nape. His shirt is soft and warm against Robb’s back, comforting. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Robb.” He kisses Robb’s neck. “I wish I could be more like that.”

 

~¤~

 

In the morning, a heavy downpour falls on the city. It’s usual January weather, but Theon doesn’t like it any better for its seasonality. He doesn’t have his boots here, only the sneakers from yesterday – he’s gonna get his socks soaked on his way to the uni. Fucking rain. Nonetheless, he feels energised, buoyant, even. Last night was incredible. Amazing. The best with Robb, so far. He was only half-aware how much his body missed topping, but now that his need has been satiated, it’s like a goddamn revival. For one reason or another, Robb could satisfy him more thoroughly than any of the hook-ups he used to fuck half a year ago. Ramsay – well, he is another story. A much kinkier one. But that doesn’t matter, because it wasn’t _normal,_ and neither was it healthy. Sex with Robb, however, is so sweet and simple. And sooo good.

“Christ.” He leans his head against the cool surface of Robb’s fridge. “I’m a fucking goner.”

“Talking to yourself already?”

Theon jumps at the voice and bumps his shin into the cupboard so hard his vision flashes white for a moment. He doubles over in pain. “Couldn’t you make a sound before scaring the shit out of me?” He grits out through his teeth and waddles over to a chair to collapse into it.

Unperturbed, Robb’s cousin sits opposite him. “Good morning to you too, Greyjoy.”

Really? Theon thought they were familiar enough for first names, but what the hell, if Snow wants to keep his distance, he won’t stand in the way. He’s about to move on and make Robb some toast – damnit, he’s whipped. no going back – when he realises he’s in Robb’s short-sleeved shirt, ergo his arms are bare. He freezes in dread and glances up into that bastard’s dark eyes. _Don’t ask, don’t you dare ask,_ he tries to convey. It either goes through or this Jon is a decent person somewhere beneath that annoying mascara, because he only blinks a few times, then averts his gaze without saying a thing.

Theon feels like he can breathe again. Talking about those godforsaken notches first thing in the morning would have been agony. As if it was anyone else’s business what kind of marks he bears on his body. Now, the next question is, did the guy hear them last night or not? On one hand, if he did, Theon could boast a little and enjoy how it would make Snow squirm. After all, he did a very nice performance, he’s bound to be proud of it. On the other, Robb would be mortified to be found out, the poor thing. Maybe it would be better for everyone if they didn’t mention it.

Snow’s not much of a talker, Theon has no problem working that out, but sitting fifteen minutes in silence without doing anything is more than slightly daunting. He tries different tactics at cracking that hard shell, because he needs to do something with himself and a morning quickie is a road best not travelled right now – Robb is so knackered he might just sleep through it and that’s no fun. First, he starts picking at his cuticles, letting out the most irritating sounds he can imagine. It’s to no avail, Snow glances up only once, then pulls out his phone. Then he hums his favourite song, mixes eggs in a bowl with unnecessary noise level, drinks orange juice straight from the carton. He thinks he might get the guy at that one, because his upper lip twitches and his nose wrinkles, but he’s back to the melancholy expression within seconds.

He’s running out of good ideas when Robb emerges from his room in his dark blue bathrobe. He is glowing with the brightness of a man who had an immensely wonderful night and grins when Theon winks at him.

“Hey Jon. How did you sleep?”

Snow shrugs. “Better than I thought I would.”

Robb’s shoulders relax and he tucks into the breakfast Theon prepared for him without further ado. He has a dark bitemark under the hinge of his jaw - a clear sign that Theon has been careless and more possessive than advisable. It stirs the ever-present coils of guilt in his stomach, but then he notices Snow’s horrified look, fixated on the hickey, and his emotions do a sharp turn for the better. God, this week is going to be entertaining.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's day developments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dreadfully late, I know, sorry about that. I hope you checked out my latest work (The gilded cage) in the meantime. 
> 
> And thank you for the wonderful feedback, it's what keeps me going! I'm very hopeful that you will enjoy this part too. Tell me if you did. I included a bit about Ygritte, because you guys liked her. :)

 

Robb has always been an athletic guy, given his family’s fondness of sports. He was on the baseball team way back in high school and he didn’t shy away from track and field either, in case they needed a fourth member for the relay race. However, he quit doing sports in his first year at university and since then, the most exhausting exercise he did was playing beach volleyball with his siblings in the summer. It’s no surprise then that he is so out of shape that even Jeyne, feeble little Jeyne, is able to keep up with him. Granted, she has been running regularly since September.

There are two parts of this exercise he likes. The first two kilometres, when he’s still feeling strong and full of bounding energy, and the minutes after his run, when the rush of exhaustion and satisfaction spreads through his body. But the section between these two… He’d do anything to skip that part. The worst, he thinks, is that it’s his lungs that are killing him, not his legs. His muscles are all good, no cramping, no strains, but his chest hurts as if he breathed in needles coated in acid. He can’t get enough oxygen and the sweatdrops on his forehead are rolling down into his eyes.

Still, he likes running, especially on cold afternoons like this one, because there are fewer people loitering around. The relative silence and the natural ambience of the park make for a relaxing combination. And it does affect Robb’s wellbeing, whatever Theon says about suppressing thoughts that should be explored. (Pot calling the kettle black, by the way.) It’s true that he still has… episodes, sometimes. Call them panic attacks, if you must. And yeah, he has to take the sleeping pills too. But he feels much lighter and it’s only a matter of time that his regular exercises have their visible effects. He’s pretty optimistic about it.

“That’s it, I’m done.” He wheezes and slows to a walk when he passes the six kilometer mark. Jeyne, who decided to accompany him this afternoon, follows his lead with a relieved smile.

She bends over and grabs her knees, heaving. “Thought you’d… never… stop.”

Robb laughs and begins a light stretching. He wishes Theon had the time to come along, his comments would have been hilarious. Wiping his flushed face, he watches Jeyne’s bent form. She looks like she might just die - he may have gone a bit too fast, after all. Her legs seem to be shaking. “Are you cold? Those leggings look thin.”

Jeyne straightens up and collapses on a nearby bench. “They are… quite warm.”

They sure don’t look like it. Unless they have polar fleece inside, but Robb doubts that. They are so tight they fit on her like a second skin and he remembers how her legs look, there can’t be another layer under those pants. He’s about to suggest going to his flat to warm up and drinking a cup of hot tea when she speaks up.

“I’ve wanted to ask back in the office… Who are you going to leave in charge here?”

It’s an abrupt question, but one that Robb can’t stop mulling over. He’s still trying to think up a solution for himself to stay, because asking Theon to move abroad sounds like a bad idea. If he freaked out from a simple I love you, imagine what he’d do after a request like that. He’d go nuts, that’s what. But, to answer the question, if Robb really was to move back, he’d most likely make Jeyne Head of Department. “I was thinking of you, actually.”

“M-Me?” Her eyes widen. “But Robb, we haven’t been apart since I started working here - I-I mean, we always worked for the same department.”

“I know. That’s why I think it’s time for you to… step out from under my wing, so to say?” He makes air quotes, then cringes inside. Why is he making this awkward? She’s his friend, but first and foremost, she’s his employee. He has to keep the company’s interests in mind. And there’s much potencial in her that’s waiting to be exploited.

She looks down at her shoes. “Thank you for the promotion offer, boss.”

“You deserve it.” Robb smiles and sits next to her. “Come on, Jeyne. It’s a good opportunity to show what you’ve got! Aren’t you happy?”

She sniffs. “I’ll miss you, is all. I think we worked well together.”

“Well, I’ll miss you too. Buuut… you will get my lovely office with its nice, big fridge, that has to be some compensation, huh?”

She smiles and glances up, face brightening. Emboldened, Robb keeps trying to get her back into a good mood. “I know you love my desk too. My secretary said you sneaked in to stroke it again today, when I attended a meeting. You like mahogany?”

For some reason, she blanches. Perhaps she thinks that’s something to be ashamed of? “Y-Yeah. But I was just checking some data on your computer, it took less than a minute.”

“Don’t worry, you can admit to be into luxury furniture.”

Jeyne grins, but it doesn’t seem entirely honest. Theon’s words come to Robb’s mind: _that girl has a massive crush on you._ It must be true, he realises, if she’s this sad about no longer working directly under him. He saw the signs earlier, but dismissed them in the hope that there was another reason that explained them. It appears he has only been prolonging her suffering by not telling her point blank that it’s hopeless. By keeping her close… He thought they were friends with clear boundaries, but he must have thought wrong. Poor Jeyne.

 

~¤~

 

The next morning Robb still feels a hint of guilt over Jeyne’s predicament, and has no idea what to do. Should he address the issue or should he let it go? They will be an ocean apart soon enough, would that be enough help?

He takes Jon to the Loustic, in part to show him the place, but mostly because he wants to get his mind off this mess and have an excuse to visit Theon at work. Theon isn’t particularly warm to him, but that’s normal, he’s been like that since New Year’s Eve. He doesn’t like it when Robb is his costumer. It’s reasonable, but doesn’t do much to ward Robb off.

He and Jon sit at Robb’s usual table, eating in comfortable silence. Robb’s phone is buzzing on the table, but he turns it off. He deserves a quiet morning. As he takes a bite of his muffin, he watches Theon preparing someone’s order, ever-present pencil behind his ear. The sight gives him fond memories. They have come so far since that first meeting, he can hardly believe it. Everything happened so fast - he can’t even remember what it was like, not knowing this wonderful person. When Theon faces their table to grab a cup, he notices Robb’s probably smitten, kinda pathetic stare. He rolls his eyes and gestures for Robb to turn around, mouthing _I’m working, you ass._

Robb obeys, laughing to himself, then pauses when he looks up at Jon’s face.  “What?”

“You are head over heels.”

“Don’t I know it?” Robb sighs, but he’s smiling. He doesn’t think he has felt like this before. “What do you think about him?”

“He’s a talented artist, as far as I can tell.” Jon says without hesitation. Robb is a bit taken aback - he didn’t expect a positive answer after the instant animosity he witnessed between these two. “Otherwise, I think he is an asshole who is going to break your heart.”

Aha. There it is, the response he thought he would get. “That’s a bit too harsh.”

Jon takes a sip of his plain black coffee. “I think he hates me.”

“He is just jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Well… you do take up some of my free time. But he will get over it, I promise.”

Jon shakes his head in disbelief, but changes the topic. “What are you doing for Valentine’s day?”

Robb frowns. “Valent - Christ, it completely slipped my mind!” Oh no. Maybe that’s why Theon’s so moody… “Do you think he’s mad about it?”

Jon glances at the counter. Following his gaze, Robb turns just in time to catch the spiteful glare Theon shoots at the heart-shaped lollypops Pauline is handing to a couple. He looks like the anti-Valentine materialized. “He doesn’t seem like the romantic type.

Robb feels his budding panic settle, amusement taking its place. There’s no chance in hell that Theon’s mad about the lack of romance in his morning. “No. But I should invite him for dinner anyway, I think.”

Jon shrugs, then focuses his attention on the half-eaten croissant on his plate. Robb has a hunch that he’s embarrassed about what he’s about to say. “Don’t worry about logistics, I’ll be out on my own date anyway. I’ll just crash in Sam’s hotel room, so that you can have an undisturbed night.”

For a moment, Robb’s too caught up with the opportunity to realise what else Jon said. “Wouldn’t it be a bother?”

Jon shakes his head. “Sam has a futon.”

This is the point where Robb’s mind catches up. “What date?”

To his surprise, Jon blushes. “Remember that redhead from the bridge?” Robb frowns and shakes his head. “The one with the guitar. We had an argument.”

“Oh. _Her.”_

“Yeah.”

He should have known. As much as Jon is a quiet guy, he likes fiery women the most. A case of opposites attract? “How did you get her number?”

Jon jerks his head in Theon’s direction. Robb’s eyebrows make a valid attempt at disappearing under his hairline. “Did you two _communicate?_ I didn’t see any bleeding noses.”

Jon glowers. “We communicate plenty enough when you aren’t there. He wouldn’t be too bad if he wasn’t a prick most of the time.”

Robb smiles. “So, where are you going to take her?”

 _“She_ is going to take _me_ and I have no idea where. Don’t make me explain how that happened…” Jon raises his cup of coffee to his lips and checks his phone mid-sentence. He frowns and taps at something, then suddenly lurches forward, choking on his drink. As soon as he stops coughing, he erupts into laughter. Robb shoots him a curious look.

“Oh my God. Oh my God, Robb, you are going to love this.”

“What?”

“Roslin Frey is getting married in March.”

Robb’s mind goes blank so fast he almost faints. What the hell is happening? “I didn’t even say yes!”

“Not to you!” Jon laughs again, wiping tears - of relief? - from his eyes. “To Edmure Tully.”

Robb is too busy scraping his jaw off the floor to come up with an intelligent reaction. Edmure Tully? He didn’t even know they knew each other. “What.”

“I know.” Jon grins and passes him the phone. “Apparently, they have been dating behind old Walder’s back. And he knocked her up. I bet the old man’s livid.”

Robb reads the message - it’s solemn like a funeral announcement, although it’s an invitation to the wedding ceremony. The text includes a warning that no guests should arrive in red clothes, as it is the theme colour of the event. “Holy shit.” He laughs. “Is this true?”

He can’t believe it. Edmure, who brought him nothing in the business but annoyance so far, has pulled him out of this mess without ever intending to do so. It’s a goddamn miracle - Robb spent many a night restless, working out a solution to replace Walder’s companies, feeling like the Sword of Damocles was hanging over his head - and now he’s free of that pressure. Unbelievable. If only all his problems solved themselves like this.

 

~¤~

 

In the evening, Robb’s mood hasn’t dampened in the slightest. Theon, on the other hand, is impersonating a prickly hedgehog at the moment. Robb doesn’t dare touch him or initiate any kind of conversation until they are in the middle of the dinner he put together with painstaking care.

“How was your day?” He ventures tentatively.

Theon growls. “Had to make heart-shaped foam on every cup of coffee I served, watched dozens of couples slobbering over each other and if I have to direct another pair of whipped idiots to the _Pont des Arts,_ I’m going to hang myself. I was tempted to throw their fucking love locks at their stupid heads.”

“That sounds bad.”

“It was terrible. Paris is a hellhole around this day.” Theon grumbles and, sadly, Robb is inclined to agree. “Where’s your cousin? Not that I miss him bothering us.”

Robb decides to ignore the second part. “Out with that ginger friend of yours.”

“Ygritte?” Theon perks up. “Whoa. She’s very picky, can’t believe she’s willing to go on a date with Snow. When I asked her myself, she turned me down. She says she prefers polite and sensitive guys.”

Robb bites back a smile. Theon _is_ sensitive, just not in the cute way, but the pain-in-the-ass one. He can’t say as much about being polite.

“She’s a fucking hypocrite, though, because she’s neither of those things.” Theon goes on and stabs a piece of meat with his fork. “Whatever. She is hot. Your cousin owes me one.”

“I’m sure he’ll be grateful.” Robb grins and reaches across the table to grab Theon’s hand. “By the way, I have good news.”

When he’s done filling Theon in, they fall into each other’s arms, grinning like fools. Thank you very much, Edmure. “Happy Valentine’s day.” Robb lets out a sigh and kisses Theon’s brow.

Theon makes a disgruntled noise. “I hope you know I’m not into the scented candles-rose petals stuff.”

“Don’t worry. To be honest, I completely forgot about it until Jon reminded me this morning.”

“A man after my own heart.”

Robb moves back and guides them over to the couch. “I thought we could have a study session.”

Theon cringes. “Yay?”

They have tried studying together before, it was disastrous. But this would be a fundamentally different approach. A much more motivating one. “You point at parts of your body and if I can name them in French, I get to kiss them.”

“Hm, I like where you are going with this. And if you can’t?”

“I take something off?”

Theon’s lips stretch into a leer. “Okay. But I expect a good show, _chéri.”_

Needless to say, Robb learns  _a lot_ about the French language that night.

 

~¤~

 

Theon wakes up to quiet snoring next to his ear. He smiles to himself and stretches his limbs, then blinks his eyes open. It has been raining for days on end, but this morning they seem to get a bit of sunshine. Strips of it are streaming in through the half-closed blinds and paint parts of Robb’s grey-scale bedroom in colour. There are dust particles swirling in the air, like glittering powder. Theon raises a hand and runs it through the spun gold rays, imagines he feels the warmth of them on his skin, dreams that they are strings of hair he can comb through and curl around his fingers.

Seeing this brightness instantly puts him into a good mood. Not like yesterday - he has been so volatile, he has no idea how Robb suffered through the worst of it. Sadly, he gave Robb little bruises again in the heat of the night, which he hates eight times out of ten. No one’s body should be marked like that. He knows firsthand how unwanted claims feel on the flesh.

He had his reasons for the gruff behaviour, though. Not Valentine’s day of course, who the fuck cares about that? Yeah, it’s mildly annoying, but not as much as receiving a new letter from England. Another godforsaken letter, reminiscing about the good ol’ times in Dover. It might be time to move out of that cursed apartment. He won’t tell Robb if he can help it, Theon has decided as soon as he saw the address. He would only work himself into a frenzy over it and he has his share to deal with even with that marriage problem out of the way. Theon won’t put this on him on top of everything else. And he has been so unbelievably content in the last few days, with his cousin in town, it’d be cruel to take that from him.

Quite alert now, Theon glances at his phone. He still has a few minutes until he has to get up for school - sometimes his brain does this, sets itself like a clock and wakes him around the time his alarm would go off. He heard there are people who can do this every day, they just think of the hour before going to sleep and their mind does the work for them.

Theon wonders whether Robb would be one of those people if he didn’t have to take sleeping pills. He wonders whether he would be more restless in his slumber or quicker to wake up - he hopes he will get to know the answer. He turns to his side to watch Robb’s sleep.

Robb’s on his stomach, face half-smashed into his pillow, hands stuffed under his head. The blanket slipped off to his hips and left his back bare. It hits Theon anew how much he likes the curve of it, the smooth lines, the lack of scars. He leans over and nuzzles against it, kisses a line up to his neck. This is Theon’s favourite time to be affectionate. During daytime, his doubts invade his mind, make him pull back at the last moments and leave only the bare bones of whatever he would have wanted to do, hugs or short pecks. But in the first half an hour of the morning, when he knows Robb won’t remember anything, he loosens his restraints. He knows it’s a craven thing to do, but he can’t help it. He is afraid to show more of his own neediness.

Robb is always so soft and open in his sleep, it’s easy to stroke and pet him until his eyelashes flutter awake. When they finally do, his hazy blue eyes find Theon’s, blink, then close again. He slides an arm towards Theon’s about an inch before he starts snuffing again. Theon chuckles. Those pills are like a horse kick to the head.

He gets the sudden urge to bite the knob of Robb’s shoulder, it looks so enticing. Unable to control himself, he does, but keeps it gentle, not branding, just taking his fill. Even though Robb’s skin doesn’t really taste like anything, it feels delicious under his tongue. His heart swells. By God, he loves doing this, however weird that sounds. He hears a grunt when his teeth press a bit too hard and he pulls back to find Robb squinting at him, struggling with his heavy eyelids.

“Hey.” He smiles and rubs away the white circle of teeth marks he left behind. They disappear soon enough. “Awake?”

Robb doesn’t react, just keeps blinking. Like almost every morning, his gaze is cloudy as if he had been drugged - which he was, in a way.

“Not really, I see.” Theon concludes to himself. He wishes that Dr. Luwin would send Robb to a therapist at last, instead of prescribing more and more of the stuff he takes. He should take care of the psychological causes of his insomnia before he gets hooked on the pills.

“And then you’d remember more than a few sensations from these moments.” He tells Robb and takes his free hand. It’s warm and pliant in his hold. Theon scoots closer and presses his face against it. “You smell so good.”

Robb just smiles, eyes falling shut again. A couple more minutes and he’d be fully awake too, and the moment will be gone. But for now, Theon can enjoy its uncomplicated serenity. He recalls the first time a hint of this feeling ran through him. Back when they met, the first time he saw Robb laugh. He didn’t know what it was back then, the starting spark of something much bigger, but part of him - the one that fuels his art - has been bewitched. It’s only sheer miracle that some piece of Robb felt the need to connect around that time, sheer miracle that Theon responded well enough to form a bond. Any other way, they would have passed each other and never remembered the ‘flirty barista’ or the ‘handsome businessman’ again. Even though there were days he wished it had ended as a one-night stand, right now, with his nose brushing Robb’s knuckles, he’s infinitely glad it hadn’t.

The churchbell rings - it’s seven o’clock. There are ten minutes until his alarm goes off. Theon closes his eyes and burrows into the warmth radiating from the naked body beside him. He feels Robb’s steady exhales on the back of his hand, times his own breathing to them. He smiles and thinks, for the first time, _I love you too._

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon tells more about his story. Robb dreams, Jon goes home, and a question gets answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled a lot with this one. Two thirds of it had been rewritten, because I didn't like the original. I sincerely hope you will have fun reading the final version. Tell me what you think about it! :)

 

 

The graveyard is covered in gloomy mist, grey-blue water droplets floating mid-air. Rows upon rows of white headstones gleam in the eerie light. The clouds shy away from the full moon. Rattling. Metallic screams.  _Hush._ Something flies past – a screech owl, trailing after its prey of the night, bloody talons ready. The wrought-iron gate bends and twists open. It’s cold, so cold. Robb follows his shadow along unkempt paths of heather to a tomb of marble.

 _“Here, at last.”_ Whistles the wind and combs a hand through his hair. _“He’s been waiting.”_

Robb doesn’t ask who. It seems evident, even though the answer lurks out of his reach, behind the smog of death. He kneels on the frozen dirt. Fingers settle on his shoulders and push, push him into a carpet of ivy. Through moribund leaves, he sees the edge of the cracked tombstone.

 _“Look.”_ Says the wind. _“Look.”_ Adamant, too hard to combat. Robb raises his eyes.

“No.” He cries. The name on the stone is his own, but it can’t be. Can’t be. “No.”

The wind laughs and leaves him, blades of grass bowing goodbye. A furry creature scurries over Robb’s arm and bites his thumb. Bites again. Chews, stings the centre of his palm, eats his flesh alive. The ground opens up, rotten fog steaming out of the wounded bowels of hell. Ivy branches crack and snap into pieces. Robb screams.

~¤~

_“How long will you let him sleep?”_

Robb wakes up trembling all over. Oh, one of his hands has fallen asleep – that was the stinging sensation. It takes a moment to get his bearings, but when his pounding heart settles, he realises he’s on his own couch, home, safe. “Shit.” He whispers and buries his face in the pillow underneath his head. It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare. God, how he wished to be rid of those forever.

_“As long as he needs. Honestly, Snow, you must know he’s insomniac. I’m overjoyed he even fell asleep on his own.”_

_“He’s going to be mad he missed the last afternoon before my departure.”_ That’s Jon, him and Theon, talking in the kitchen. Heavens, how good it is to hear their voice. Robb turns onto his back and takes a long breath. He shouldn’t have dozed off without medication. Anytime it happens, the dreams come back to haunt him.

_“Let me deal with that.”_

_“Your choice.”_ There’s the sound of glasses clicking, a muffled laugh and a snort. Are they drinking together? And judged by the noises… playing cards? Robb’s stunned to the core.

Something slaps onto the table. _“Fuck you.”_ Theon mutters. _“I can’t believe you won again.”_ Robb grins up at the ceiling. He can imagine Theon’s expression now, all furrowed brows and angry eyes, but a jaw set in headstrong determination to win. He has heard that tone of voice on many occasions, especially when the topic of politics came up.

_“It’s not too hard.”_

_“Bastard. One more round.”_

_“Okay. But if you lose, you wake him up.”_

_“Ah shit.”_ Theon sighs. He is clearly conflicted, but his desire to beat Jon ends up being the stronger motivation. _“Okay.”_

For a while, neither of them says anything. Then Theon, perhaps to draw Jon’s attention away from the game, perhaps out of genuine interest, clears his throat. _“So, how’s this cousin-slash-brother thing? He never tells me.”_

Ugh, there we go. Robb sucks in a breath. _“My parents died when I was very little.”_ Jon’s chair creeks. He must be squirming. _“Our – I mean, Robb’s Dad, who’s actually my uncle, adopted me back then.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“It happened a long time ago.”_ Jon deflects. _“Does he really not talk about it?”_

 _“About that and other things.”_ Robb starts feeling guilty for eavesdropping. None of these thoughts are meant for his ears, however much he’d like it if they were. _“I don’t blame him though. I’m not the best to be trusted with his heart.”_

_“At least we agree on something.”_

Before that could evolve into a fight, Robb gets up and staggers into the kitchen. He finds the boys, indeed, playing poker at the table. Theon has his socked feet up on the chair next to him, a glass of wine in one hand, and busted cards in the other. In front of him, a stack of coins – more than half of them are euro cents, and no dollars. All his bills are in the middle of the table. He is bluffing, of course, but there’s no way Jon’s buying it. It’s a fortunate thing they don’t play with big bets. Theon would be out of money within the hour.

“Hey.” Robb smiles and shoves Theon’s feet off the chair to claim it for himself. “Fun game?”

“Nah, I’m bored to death.” Theon smirks, not noticing how Jon rolls his eyes. It’s interesting and kind of funny that he seems to be set on denying any sort of cordiality between the two of them. As if that was something to be embarrassed about. “I was wondering when you’d finally wake up.”

He throws in another pair of coins, raising the bet. Robb tries not to give him away, but it’s quite hard, especially when Theon begins tossing him cocky glances. He must have messed it up or Jon is just _that_ good, because in a matter of minutes, Theon’s cursing up a storm while Jon’s grinning at his well-earned winnings. Robb’s still feeling somewhat sluggish after his dream and doesn’t join in on either side. He just stares at the barely-there upcurve at the edges of Theon’s mouth and waits for the aftertaste of his nightmare to fade away. When Jon gets up to find a new bottle of wine, Theon swivels sideways on his chair and shifts closer, hands coming to rest on Robb’s thighs.

“What’s wrong?” He whispers, voice tight and measured.

“Nothing.” Robb shakes his head and leans in for a short kiss. Theon’s lips are sticky and sweet against his.

“I love you.” Theon still hasn’t said it back and Robb can’t even gauge the reason behind it, besides vague concepts like ‘fear of commitment’. It kills him a little every single time, so he tries not to say it too often and ignores the stab of disappointment in his gut as much as he can. It’s too sentimental, he knows, but that nightmare shook him up and he could do with some reassurance now. “I want you to know that.”

“I know.” They are very quiet, but Jon hears it anyway and coughs as he walks back, uncomfortable blush spreading over his cheeks. Theon’s face closes and he moves away, leaving nothing behind but faint spots of warmth on Robb’s legs. He empties his glass. “Tell me, Snow, how did your second date go with Ygritte? I’m honestly curious, since you are still among the living.”

“So funny, Greyjoy.”

“Come on. Robb here is dying to know, too.”

Robb holds up his palms. “Don’t pull me into this.”

“Ow, _chéri,_ you should have backed me up.”

“Sorry. I’m much more interested in your day than Jon’s lacklustre escapades.”

“I assure you there was nothing lacklustre about it. We went up to her flat and –“

Theon smirks. “And?”

Jon purses his lips. “I’ve told you too much already.”

“Let’s give him a break.” Robb snickers and gives Theon a knowing look. “Tell me about your day instead.”

“Well, I got some reviews. My professors ate up your portrait like it was a goddamn Renoir. Which it wasn’t, but your powers as eye-candy raised the quality by a level or two. It was quite spectacular…”

~¤~

The next morning, after they have seen Jon off at the airport, they go to Theon’s apartment to discuss possible sittings for Theon’s final project and to retrieve some special pastel whose importance Robb apparently ‘doesn’t understand anyway’. For the first time in a month, Theon lets him into his tiny home studio. He leaves Robb by the threshold and starts puttering around in search of that paint he always forgets to put back into its place. Robb, of course, joins in to help, even though he has no idea what they are looking for.

In the least tidy part of the room, he comes upon a box under the desk. Intrigued, he pulls off its lid to reveal at least a dozen white envelopes, every single one sent from England.

“What’s this?” He whispers, taken aback, and turns. Theon gives him a hopeful glance, but then he sees the box and realisation hits him. His eyes widen in fright and he starts backing away. His face turns as white as the wall. Swallowing, Robb grabs a handful of those sheets and crumples them in his fist. “Theon. What the hell is this.”

“Letters.”

“Letters.” Robb’s voice almost breaks from pain. He thought Theon trusted him enough not to keep something like this to himself. Something that has serious impact. Robb is giving up a lot to aid him in his healing, but… now all those sacrifices feel like nothing but a windmill-fight. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Theon wrinkles his brows in misery and shakes his head. Robb steps closer and closer to him until he’s backed into a corner, trapped. It’s wrong to keep him in that place, but Robb can’t let it go this time. He wants to get to the bottom of this mess, wants to see the things Theon’s hiding in the darkest nooks of his mind. “Theon.”

“No.”

“Answer me.” He doesn’t raise his voice, there’s no threat in the order, but Theon flinches anyway.

“No.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Theon shakes his head again, covering his eyes, shoulders hunched. Robb’s nails bite into his palms from strain. It would be easier to give up and let it pass, to stop forcing a reveal. To let Theon keep those dark thoughts in secret. It’s breaking Robb’s heart, but he decides he has to push further. It’s necessary to pull whatever there is out. “Why?”

“Because I can’t escape it!” Theon cries out all of a sudden and Robb has to take a deep breath. It’s out, finally, _finally._

“He’s going to find me anyway, it’s going to happen whatever I do, it’s going to happen!” Theon yells, agony and terror in his eyes. “I can’t avoid it. He has eyes everywhere. Knows everything. It’s going to happen.”

“What?”

“Punishment.”

“That’s -”

“It’s _not_ bullshit!” Theon cuts him off. “He’s going to come wherever I go, there’s no end… He - He even says it here, you see…” He tears a letter out of Robb’s grip, but his eyes don’t read the words, he knows them by heart. “ _You left me, but I know this isn’t the end of us. I’ll stay with you forever, am I right? Do not worry, one day we’ll be back together.”_

Theon throws the paper away and sits on the ground, hugging his knees to hide.

“Theon…” He doesn’t respond to the prodding. “You should have told -” Robb bites his tongue and counts to ten. Anger would just spur things further in the wrong direction. “You let him brainwash you from hundreds of miles away. But you have to know better than that. He is playing with you.”

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t what?”

Theon leans his head back against the wall. His cheeks are flushed, but dry - at least he isn’t crying. “Didn’t want you to get involved. I wanted to... protect you.”

“Christ.” Normally, in spite of his affectionate nature, Robb doesn’t use endearments at all, but this seems like a time fit for one. “My darling.”

Sure enough, it earns him a tentative look from troubled blue eyes. “These are just empty words, that man holds no power over either of us. Not anymore. Can you believe that?”

Theon shakes his head, clutching at his jeans with pale fingers. Robb sighs and crouches down next to him, slipping a hand over Theon’s. This is beyond his capacities as boyfriend. “I’m going to call Brienne, okay?”

~¤~

They get lucky, one of Brienne’s clients has called her session off. The place looks the same as the last time Robb came, except for a new box of tissues that has a different set of shells on its cover. Theon plops down on the couch and starts fiddling with it immediately. He is distracted, too lost in thought to notice Robb sneaking out of the room to fill Brienne in on the crisis.

“He can’t stay there anymore.” Robb begins, keeping his voice firm. Then as he cools down, he ends his monologue with a sigh. “I apologise for the late notice, but we needed your immediate help.”

Brienne offers a polite nod. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you.”

She pauses for a brief moment with her hand on the doorknob. “I think you should come in too. Let’s see how he reacts to your presence.”

“If you think that could help…”

“I think so, yes.”

“Then I’ll come, of course.”

She gives Robb a once-over. “I advise you not to interfere much - that is, if he wants to touch you, let him, but do not initiate. If he talks to you, listen as you normally would. And the fewer comments, the better.”

“Understood.”

“Good.”

“Wait - what if he asks me something?”

She smiles and squeezes his shoulder. “Answer as honestly as you can.”

 

~¤~

 

_“Bonjour, Theon.”_

_“‘Jour.”_ Theon mumbles as Brienne takes her seat opposite him. His eyes flicker to Robb’s face, in surprise, curiosity or fear, it’s unsure. Robb tries to look as calm and encouraging as he can and sits on the end of the couch further from the door. Now is not the time to block Theon’s exit.

“Would you like to send Robb out?” Brienne asks.

Theon hesitates, then shakes his head. He looks so small and vulnerable - Robb has to fight the urge to reach for his hand.

“Would you like to switch to French?”

Another negative answer. “I - I want him to understand.”

“Alright. You can change your mind anytime.”

A minute of silence follows in which neither of them speaks. The same clock as last time annoys Robb with the same incessant ticking and he has to shift in his seat. Brienne frowns at him for it, but it ends up being the cue that loosens Theon’s tongue. At least, Robb would like to think so, because being this passive, ghost-like presence in the room unnerves him already.

“My mother died when I was eighteen.”

Brienne’s eyes flash, almost imperceptibly, but with unmistakable concern. “What was she like?”

“Cold. Fragile.” Theon starts picking at a thread that dangles from the sleeve of his sweater. “Distant. We didn’t get along too well. Not even in Dover. I’ve always wanted to go home and she just - she didn’t even try, you know?”

It’s like there’s a whole other half of him that has been shut away behind a dusty trapdoor. Does home mean Le Havre? Or is it some place in Dover? Up until now, Robb didn’t even know whom Theon used to live with in England.

“Home?” Brienne prompts.

“France. Our house in Le Havre.”

She nods and tries to encourage him with a smile. Theon gnaws at his lower lip. Robb just watches their interaction like it was a theatre show, something to analyze and examine in detail from different perspectives without actually participating. At the moment, he doesn’t like theatre at all.

“After… after the accident - the drowning - my physical development came to a temporary halt. I grew weaker and weaker compared to other boys around my age. It was normal, I almost died - my body needed time to catch up. But my father has never been a patient man. It came in handy that Mother filed for a divorce around that time. He paid her off and sent us on our way.”

That man. If Robb had to name a single person who did more damage - or at least just as much as Ramsay, he wouldn’t need a second to think. If he were to meet Balon Greyjoy in person, nothing short of a miracle would be able to stop him from strangling the guy with his bare hands.

“That’s how I ended up in Dover. Unwanted, alone, a weakling who did not speak the language. Imagine my first year of school.”

And it’s even more tragic if Robb thinks about his own childhood, those happy-go-lucky years when his biggest worry was eating enough Hello Dolly bars before his siblings wolfed them all down. How unfair fate can be. Theon didn’t deserve the pain and rejection he had to face all his life. He didn’t deserve that shit. But it’s not too late - it can’t be too late. _I’m going to make everything better,_ Robb promises in mind.

“Mother was miserable, of course. Never really... present. I think she still garnered some hope that he would fight for her and their marriage. So fucking stupid.” Theon pulls at the yarn so violently that it tears into two pieces. “I had to take care of everything around the house. _It’s not like you have buddies to hang out with,_ she would say when I complained. _Yeah, I don’t have friends, but maybe I could make a few, if only you let me_ \- I would reply, but by then she wasn’t listening. I took up dancing when I was nine. I mean, I’ve danced before, but it wasn’t really serious until then. And I started painting to… to make my own little world come alive. Those mythological symbols and stuff - they were my entire life back then.”

“They looked scary on the photos you showed me.”

Theon snorts. “Everything was scary. And for that, I imagined myself as the scariest. The great kraken, vicious predator lurking in bottomless waters, ready to pull entire ships down… Spooky, huh?”

“Indeed it is.”

“In real life, I was no kraken, though. Have never been.”

“Do you regret that?”

“That? Dunno.” Theon’s face turns an interesting shade of red. “I regret the things that came after.” He seems to get stratled by his own bitterness and starts backpedaling. “Not - not everything, of course. I don’t mind that I’ve lost my virginity very young. To one of the older female dancers. Her name was Ros. I was fourteen and - she just wanted to get me to paint her. It was terrible, but as I said, I don’t mind. Who the hell gets it right for the first time? She called me an average lay and patted my cheek, saying I’d grow into it, then left. And… and it sent me on a freefall that ended with me fucking through half of the school population, including guys as well. I’m just glad I didn’t meet Ramsay back then, only a bit later. He would have ruined me for good. Not that I’m not ruined now…”

“You are not.” Robb tries to suck the words back before they blurt through his mouth, but he fails to do so. Theon flinches, as though Robb has said, _you are worthless, rock bottom, can’t believe I had anything to do with you._

He doesn’t reply to Robb’s words, just hunches his shoulders, keeping his eyes on his therapist. “You know what I have on my arms, right?”

She tilts her head to the left. “You mean the scars?”

“The notches, yeah.”

God, does Robb hate those. When he sees them his mind never fails to tell him, _this is not right, not right, make them disappear._ He always tries to reclaim them with his hands and lips, to make them insignificant to his senses and soul. One time, he is going to succeed, he knows.

Theon sniffs and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. “I got one after every major mistake. He… He used to held me down for the first few, then he turned me into a well-behaved lapdog and didn’t need to anymore. Once… once I asked for it myself, thinking he would forgive me if I did. Everytime he was done with the new one, I had to recall what all the other meant. I got the first for giving someone a peck under the mistletoe as a joke. I didn’t think what he did was wrong, because I could explain it as anger over something I have truly done and perhaps shouldn’t have. But then came the others… and by the end of it, I got cut for trying to call my sister.”

Brienne leans forward and waits until Theon makes eye-contact, then says what has been on Robb’s mind the entire time. “You didn’t deserve them, Theon.”

Theon buries his face in his hands. His breathing is ragged, unsteady, but he isn’t crying. He’s clinging so hard to what he must label as modesty, but he’d feel lighter if he just let it slip. No one here is going to forbid him to get it back. “I understand. But my mind - it keeps - he’s still there. Saying things. Threatening me.”

“He is in your mind?”

“Sort of. Part of me is always… waiting for him. To capture me again. That’s why I - why I’m always on guard. I’m trying, but… I’m afraid of - of sharing too much of myself.”

Brienne lowers her voice to a soothing tone. “Because he’s going to capture you?”

“And because he will punish me - us - Robb - then. I’m afraid of that.”

“Do you think he would hurt Robb?”

Finally, Theon drops his hands back into his lap. There are white spots on his forehead where he pressed his fingertips too hard into his flesh and he sounds so sad and resigned that Robb feels like crying. “He would tear him apart in front of my eyes just to make me scream.”

Silence again. Robb has to wipe his face - a stray teardrop escaped and ran down to his chin, tickling his skin. _Reach out for me,_ he thinks. _Come on, Theon. Let me make it better._

Theon clears his throat and shifts, his focus still fixed on Brienne. “I didn’t tell Robb about the letters because I didn’t want to scare him away or put a weight on him he didn’t ask for.”

She’s very careful with her reply. “Because you know how it feels like to receive such a thing.”

Theon heaves a deep breath, then lets it go. Relief. Relief at last. “I’ve resented her all my life for it.”

Robb decides he won’t wait a moment longer. “Theon.” He murmurs and inches his hands palms up towards his boyfriend. “I want you to put it on me. I’m asking for it.”

Theon turns to him then, for the first time since the session started. _I’m afraid,_ says the gleam in his eyes. Robb finds his fingers and envelopes them in his own. _It’s just me,_ tells his touch.

“Put it on me.” He repeats. “Give me that weight.”

Theon's eyes water and he collapses forward with a muffled sob, hiding his face in Robb’s shoulder. Robb hugs him thight and strokes his back through it. He glances up at Brienne over the crown of Theon’s head and mouths. “Can you give us a moment, please?”

“Of course.” She smiles and walks out.

It takes almost five minutes of shushing and embracing for the flow of tears to cease. Theon wipes the remaining wetness from his cheeks and once again, casts his eyes down on his lap.

“Are you breaking up with me?” He mumbles.

“No.”

He lets out an incredulous, self-deprecating noise. “But I’ve said so much…”

“Shh, I’m glad you did it.”

He swallows something back. “I’m ashamed.” It doesn’t take a genius to see that. His cheeks are aflame, head bowed, bottom lip red-raw from biting.

“Don’t be.” Lacking a better idea, Robb kisses his forehead. “It was a brave thing to do.”

“I’ve never been brave, _mon chéri._ If I was, I would have left you before we fell this hard.”

Robb’s breath vanishes on its way down his windpipe. This is the closest to a love confession he has ever heard from Theon. His lips part, unable to believe, but wishing to do so. 

Theon picks a tissue out of the shell-covered box and blows his nose. The crisis is over. “What are we going to do now?”

Time to come out with it. With the grand plan Robb has been concocting for a while now. Except… Theon is still quite unbalanced, a stronger gust of emotion would tip him over. What if Robb only told him half of it? The one that’s easier to digest. “I have an idea, but I’m not sure if…”

“It can’t be worse than nothing.”

 _Please, say yes. Please do, please._ “Move in with me.”

“What?” Theon sucks in a breath. “But… but I’m a complete mess, Robb.”

“Am I not?”

“Not on this scale.”

“That’s not how I see it.” Robb smiles and shakes his head. “Move in with me.”

Now turning more cheerful too, Theon gifts him with a tiny smirk. “Is it important for you to live in Paris?”

To tell or not to tell? Let’s go with the safest option. There will be more opportune times for the rest later. “For a while more, yes.”

Theon sighs, feigning to be put out, but smiling through his exhale, and takes Robb’s hand again. “I guess we can do that. Even though I would have liked to move back closer to the sea.”

 _Well,_ Robb thinks, imagined fireworks going off in his mind, _maybe you will._

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos if you liked this chapter. :)


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